Stormy Mountain
by Zaxarus
Summary: A dragon age origins playthru with 2 heroes (Cousland/M and Amell/F); Pairings Cousland/Iona (later Cousl/Anora), Amell/Morrigan (unrequited love), Alistair/Leliana.
1. Chapter 1 Game debts

_Stormy Mountain describes a Dragon Age Origins Playthru with two heroes (Mikhail Cousland and Natasha Amell). It incorporates some crossover/connection scenes to a second story (following later) with a Dragon Age 2 PT. Apart from a double beginning (the Human Noble Begin and the Mage Tower begin) it will follow the normal play in most parts. A few decisions and follower choices cannot be replayed in the game. I hope you'll enjoy the reading. Let the story begin … _

_Comment Jan 13__th__ 2012:_

_I noticed that the duration of the described adventure is too short (only 5 months instead of the most often described 12-15 and with the finishing battle in year 9:30 instead of 9:31). I tried to correct this and hope I didn't overlook any wrong date._

**Gambling Debts**

_Road from Denerim to Highever, 9:30, Cloudreach 28th_

The coach wheels rattled on the stony underground. The voyage neared the end of the third day, the small hamlet – planned to be the place of their night's rest – could only be a few miles ahead, as Mikhail Cousland assumed. They should have already been there, but Lady Landra's coach was not in a prime condition – a clear sign of the financial standing of her husband, Bann Loren – and the driver was a first-class incompetent.

More than once Mikhail had to intervene to avert an accident. Probably the driver was a house lackey, unused to this kind of work. The young Cousland sighed deeply. What had he done to deserve this? Cursing he thought about his mother, now surely in full action home at Highever castle, planning here, and giving orders there. All had to be right for the feast in three days, no matter what was happening in other parts of Ferelden.

The news from the south had been chastening. Some said a new blight was coming. Others deemed that to be impossible. Regardless who was right, the king was gathering an army to defeat it. And he would not be part of it. Mikhail grinded his teeth. Fergus, his older brother, would lead the Highever Vanguard, their father the remaining troops, already rallying at the southern border of the arldom.

And Mikhail? He would be custodian of the castle, master of a dozen older guards, the servants and his mother. The idea let him guffaw. As if anybody - including his father – could be called master of his mother. With nearly an age of 45 already a little bit old, she had surely not lost any of her temper or sharp tongue. And no, he wouldn't call her old to her face. Mikhail loved his nose unbroken.

A loud noise awakened him from his thoughts. Shouts, whinnying horses, a cracking whip. Openmouthed he saw the coach slowly, dead slowly roll on the side, the right wheels sticking in a ditch. Panicky voices could be heard from within the coach, the driver rescuing himself with a wide jump. Within moments all stopped and gathered around the coach. Dairren, Lady Landras handsome if a little dumb son, was the first one to leave the coach. Immediately he began to scold the driver, leaving it to Mikhail to save his mother. Lady Landra was little bit shaken, but not enough to prevent her leaning against Mikhail one-two seconds longer than necessary and darting a wicked grin in his direction.

But a low moan called Mikhail's attention to the last passenger, one of the few – if not the only – advantage of this unpleasant voyage. In the darkness Mikhail could only guess the shape of Iona, Lady Landra's elven lady-in-waiting, only her blond hair shining clearly.

"Alright? Are you unhurt?" Another moan answered, followed by her beautiful voice, now filled with pain. "My right arm, he's hurt. I can't move, some chest is on my feet." Cautious he entered the coach, groped ahead. This was … her leg. Oh. Iona stiffened, as Mikhail searched the hindering chest. Moments later she was free and Mikhail able to hold her up to the other servants. It was by pure accident that his hand stroked her breasts, really.

Surely it would cost hours to bring the coach back on the road and repair all damage done. So it was decided to make the last miles on horses and send help from the hamlet. It did nothing to enhance Dairren's mood with Mikhail arranging him to lead his mother's horse while Mikhail walked beside his own carrying Iona.

Her rambling about "I can walk, sir" blocking of with a sharp wave of his hand, Mikhail felt very well in playing the gentleman. Arriving a while later at the hamlet, he enhanced his good feelings with Iona carrying as would a groom his bride in the house, relishing the feeling of her body, the arousing smell of her hair now mixed with the sweat of the voyage, setting her very careful on a chair. "It's alright, I can help Lady Landra." Iona's try to stand up was cut short by his hand on her shoulder. "There are enough others to help, you sit where you are, and that's an order, understood?" Almost hypnotized she could only nod.

Letting Dairren the work to organize help, Mikhail went to his horse, got his saddle bag and sent the housewife to fetch some hot water and clean linen. Lady Landra, provided with some hot tea, watched interestedly as Mikhail examined Iona's arm. A long cut, not very deep but bleeding profusely, showed there. "Please, sir, you'll ruin your fine clothes." A little annoyed Mikhail replied with commanding voice "would you please stop to give me instructions what I have to do and what not? You're not my wife." Shutting her mouth with blushing cheeks she watched silently as Mikhail cleaned the wound with sure but not very tender moves. Her eyes widened as he pried a bundle from his saddlebag and began to spread small flasks on the table, followed by needle and twin. "You know what you are doing, Mikhail?" Lady Landra was more than a little bit surprised by the string of events.

"I know it," was the short answer, Mikhail holding a cup with the content of one of his flasks at Iona's lips. "Drink!" Iona hesitated. The smell was awful. "Drink, it's against the pain. I have to stitch the cut, and that will hurt." Finally she gave in, the taste not better than the smell. Within minutes Iona felt the effect. All around a little dizzy, all in cotton wool. As if the arm didn't belong to her she noticed Mikhail stitching the wound. Meanwhile he explained in a neutral tone to Lady Landra.

"Some knowledge is helpful. Among soldiers there are often wounds to tend, often no physician at hand. And while there are many officers with formidable swordsmanship and inspiring speeches, I learned that nothing is so impressive for a soldier as his leader tending his wounds after the battle, showing his respect and care for his men." Lady Landra regarded him thoughtfully. "So it's only to enhance moral?" Irritated Mikhail answered "yes, what else? "

Pleased with his work, he cleaned the arm and bandaged it careful; the whole time gazed at from Iona with dreamy eyes. Lady Landra bent forward and whispered in his ear. "She has a crush on you, you know, since she first saw you back in Denerim." Iona's pointy ears and lovely cheeks reddened. "Milady, please, don't say so." With lowered head Iona followed an evil grinning Lady Landra to their rooms.

Wrapping his tools, Mikhail smelled Dairren before he saw him, the thick aroma of alcohol in the air. "She is mine, you know? Mine. My little sweet pointy-ear." Mikhail was always proud on his ability not to show any feeling if he not wished to do. But this drunken bastard made it a hard fight. It was not easy to judge the relationship between Dairren and Iona. Clearly she followed every command and he saw her as his property. But also everyone could see her disgust, when Dairren touched her.

"Sure, Dairren. I would never interfere. A grin sneaked in his face. It will last hours before this idiot of a driver will arrive with the coach. Fancy shortening the time with a little card game?"

_Highever Castle, Cloudreach 29th_

The second day of the voyage passed without complications. Dairren showed a grumpy face, staying silent the most time. As they arrived at Highever, he stormed away to his guest room, leaving his mother with Mikhail. "What's the matter? Any problem I should know about?" Mikhail waved with a charming smile. "Nothing serious. He lost a card game. And he seems not to be a good loser." Following his eyes to Iona, Lady Landra understood, laughing out loud. "But from time to time I hope I may have my maiden, yes?" She went to her room, leaving Iona completely perplexed behind. "What … what do you mean? What for a card game?" All the gentleman Mikhail led her to her room, a guest room near his own. "Yesterday Dairren and I played cards. He lost. Money. Much money. And in the end: you. I won you, for one week to be exactly." Anticipating her reaction Mikhail had no trouble in defending against her slap, holding her hand in firm grip and kissing very softly on her fingers.

"It is no obligation for you, Iona. I only wanted to give you a few days without Dairren approaching. You and only you will determine what happens. If you want it so, no more than me bandaging your arm. If more, you'll have to allow it. I really would like to be with you, hear your voice, and adore your face. But I won't exert pressure on you." Another time he kissed her fingers. "Now allow me to inform my parents about our arrival."

Storming away Mikhail left behind a very confused Iona. Minute-long she stared at the empty hallway before battering the door closed. How could he dare? Card game. Was she a prize cow? And Dairren. Evil … grinning … touching … nasty … kissing … bastard. Each word accompanied by a piece of cloth angry thrown on her bed. To the fade with all those not so noble men.

"He's very handsome, isn't he?" Lady Landra smiled friendly as Iona's head jerked high. The last hour she had been very silent preparing Lady Landra's outfit for her meeting with the Arlessa. "He … he won me. At a card game. No gentleman would do such a thing. I'm not a … prize." Showing a little jealousy in her smile Lady Landra disagreed. "But you like him. I see it; don't try to lie about this. And he … surely he likes you too, else he wouldn't risk so much to win nothing but a few days with you. What else could he do with my lovely Dairren in-between?"

Musing she looked at her maiden, let hear a faint sighing. "I don't know what happened between Dairren and you. He acts as if he would own you. And you never object, although you clearly despise him." Lady Landra let out a harsh laughter. "Don't look at me as if I'm deaf and dumb. I have eyes." Gently Lady Landra touched Iona's cheek as a mother would do. "Give him a try. At least you will have a few nice days. And perhaps … he's good in bed … now. It could be worse for you." Iona's blushing deepened as she understood the meaning of Lady Landra's words. At last she nodded. "You're right. As always milady. I'll try."


	2. Chapter 2 In love and war

**In love and war**

_Highever Castle, 9:30, Bloomingtide 4th_

Sometimes life was really great. Relaxed Mikhail leaned against the stony edge of his bathtub, holding lovely Iona in his arms. The elven maiden was softly singing an old summer feast song. Mikhail smiled pleased with himself. The last days had been difficult, him working all tricks to win Iona over.

Not until after the cheerful hours of the summer feast with strong wine and dance-weary feet he had success in convincing her to share his bed. But now the feeling was all the better. Gently he kissed her silken shoulder, causing goose bumbs. Iona nestled against him, played with his curly chest hair, and said silly things. Mikhail understood only half of them but he loved to hear her voice.

The week was nearly over now, the summer feast done. Fergus left the day before after tearful parting words from his wife Oriana and his son Oren. Father would follow soon together with Rendon Howe and Dairren, leaving mother and him at Highever. Sure, in a few days he would wish to change posts with Fergus, but now he felt lucky.

More than once his mother shot piercing glances in his direction. And he had a not so pleasant discussion with her this morning, before escorting Iona to the elven Alienage of Highever. He had waited at the gate, Iona not wishing to have him present. Why had she been there? Family visits? But Iona had been disinclined to speak about that likewise as she avoided the theme of Dairren.

"This Duncan is very impressive." Mikhail awakened from his day dreams. "I mean, not as you. But in a certain way" … Calming Mikhail stroke her soft arm, gave Iona a hearty hug. "I know how you mean it. And yes, he's impressive. He spoke with father, wanted Ser Gilmore and me to escort him to Ostagar, becoming Grey Wardens." Feeling Iona's wince he continued. "Father allowed Ser Gilmore to go, but not me." Relaxing Iona kissed Mikhail on his cheek.

"And you? Would you like to be a proud grey warden? Hero against the blight?" Mikhail pondered a while. "I don't think so. Grey Wardens don't hold titles, never have a normal home. And despite Fergus being the elder and one day succeeding father as Arl of Highever, there is a good chance I will have a fortune wedding, some political marriage to the daughter of a Bann. Perhaps Delilah Howe. Her father showed his interest in such a liaison. And she is a very kind and lovely young woman. There could be much more annoying choices."

Feeling her wincing again Mikhail stroke softly over Iona's hair. "You knew it, Iona. We can only have some wonderful days. There will be no more. It could never be." Iona nodded, struggled to answer with a confident voice. "Yes, Mikhail, sure I knew. I never assumed otherwise. I'll have a wonderful week with you. And perhaps you'll visit us in Denerim. Visit your mother I mean." Mikhail frowned. "My mother? In Denerim? Why should she be there?"

Astonished Iona replied. "Don't you know? She will live for a while at Lady Landra's mansion in Denerim. My Mistress organized all for her stay." Bewildered Mikhail thought about this news. They made sense. Mother leaving the castle, Mikhail being the custodian. All would see him to be the regent, mother not undermining his authority with her sheer presence.

Some noise caught his attention. Warrick, his old and well-loved Mabari hound leapt on his feet, teeth barred, and eyes to the door. Mikhail saw the door handle moving slowly and silently. Someone tried to enter? At this time, this way? He was more than a little astonished. "Silent" he hissed. "A burglar." As silent as possible he left the bathtub, slipped in pants, and drew his sword. Gesturing his hound to stay beside the bed, he stepped to the door, listening. Tap tap, steps, low voices, two men arguing what to do. Mikhail's hand slowly turned the key. With a jolt he opened the door, faced two soldiers, clad in armor, swords drawn, wearing the tabard of Bann Howe.

He had no time to wonder, one of the soldiers already lifting his sword to strike him down. His reflexes and years of training kicked in. Almost casually he deflected the stroke, twirled the blade. A snap of his wrist and the sword of his enemy clattered to the floor, the blood splattering soldier following a second later. The second soldier shocked from the events tried to attack Mikhail, but was no match. Grasping her mouth Iona watched as Mikhail killed his enemy with a stab to the throat.

Listening to the noises in the castle he heard someone battering a door from the direction of his parent's dormitory. And there was the cry of a woman from the right. Oriana. Hastily he fetched his shield from the rack. "Warrick, stay here, defend Iona. Iona, fetch some clothes, hide you. I'll return soon, don't run away." Mikhail waited only a second to see Iona nod, his heart bumping.

Mother. No, she could defend herself, he had to trust her. Oriana. As fast as possible he raced down the floor, praying to the maker he wouldn't be too late. Steps, running his way. Oren. Fergus' son entered the hallway, frightened to death, tears in his eyes. Before Mikhail could reach his nephew a flash reached out from the next corner, hit the child, and hurled him to the ground. The confident smile of the crossbowman melted away as a furious Mikhail stormed in his direction. He reached for his sword, the crossbow clattering to the ground. Wild swings, no tactic, only pure rage. More than a dozen sword strikes hacked the Howe soldier to death. With wide paces Mikhail hastened down the hallway only to find the bloody corpse of Oriana. Oh Fergus.

Anew battering noises, Warrick's barking, clashing of weapons and - giving him new hope - the battle cry of his mother. Back to his room. His mother fighting with a soldier, two others lying in the floor, Warrick down, a nasty slash to his side, heavy panting. Iona screamed. "Defend her, I'm safe."

Following his mother's orders he sprinted in his chamber, saw Iona approached by a fourth soldier, hiding behind the bed. Before the man could react Mikhail ran him thru with his sword. Iona flew into his embracing arms, trembling for fear. "Sssch. It's over. You're safe." His mother entered the chamber trying with all might to calm her. "They … they killed Landra. Why? I … Oriana, Oren. We have to see." Mikhail released Iona, gripped the arm of his mother, holding her back in spite her struggling. "Mother, no. Stay here. Please. Mother. They … they are dead. STAY. Don't go, don't look at them now."

Seeing his trembling mother rattled Mikhail more than all else. "Mother, we have to go. Find father. Mother, can you fight? I need you." Pulling her together Eleanor nodded. "Yes, you're right." With a stony look on his face Mikhail fulfilled his last task in his chamber. Gently stroking Warrick's head he released him from his pain with a swift stroke of his knife. Without word he strode past his mother, gripping Iona's arm, and dragging her with him.

The following minutes were a string of unorganized fights, killing a Howe soldier here, obstructing a door there, and collecting the few remaining soldiers. At last it was Ser Gilmore, defending the main hall against the bulk of Howe's troops, who could give directions. "He searched you, Milady, but the Arl is heavy wounded. I begged him to stay. He ran off to the store room." Ser Gilmore hadn't to explain further. The store room, the secret escape tunnel. "Please, milady, hurry. I'll defend as long as possible, but they're too many of Howe's soldiers."

More fights, more kills. Mikhail didn't know how much of the blood was his own; he felt no pain, only anger. Without his mother he would have searched for Howe, killed that bastard, who betrayed 30 years of friendship to accomplish … what? The store room, two killed soldiers, father in a pool of blood only faintly moving. Hearing steps behind him, Mikhail whirled around, sword held up. Duncan. Ignoring the weapon he unnatural calmly entered the room, closed the door, and began to stack crates before. "We should be safe, at least for a few minutes. But we have to leave as quickly as possible; the castle is overrun with Howe's soldiers."

Days later asked he couldn't really describe the following discussion. All was a blurry haze of glimpses. His father begging Duncan for saving his family. Duncan in return demanding Mikhail's service as a grey warden. Eleanor pleading Mikhail to flee, her decision to stay with father.

Only one picture remained clear: mother kissing father farewell and Iona interfering as Mikhail moved to knock his mother down, to force her escape. "No, Mikhail, don't, please. Mikhail, I know what you feel, that you want to save her. But … it is her right, only hers. There is nothing so hard as not to be able to control your life. Please, let your mother decide her own fate. Don't force her to leave her love. Flee with Duncan."

There was hardly enough time to kiss his parents goodbye before Mikhail had to run after Duncan, dragging Iona with him. "No, I stay, I would encumber both of you, endanger your escape." Iona struggled to break free from Mikhail's strong grip. Mikhail didn't care, only tightened the grip. "Shut up. Think about your daughter, she needs you." Stunned Iona followed. "You … you know of my daughter?"

Grim-faced Mikhail responded "Surely I do. Dairren told me; he wanted to cut my interest."

Dairren. For a moment Iona thought what happened to him. Then Mikhail embraced her, gave her a short, strong kiss. "You will see your daughter again, trust me."

The escape tunnel hadn't been found yet, the soldiers around the keep not warned. Circumventing trouble as good as possible the three fugitives escaped Highever. "We have to go to Ostagar. The king is there. Only he has the might to react on Howe's treason." With a last look at Highever and the silent vow to kill Howe Mikhail followed Duncan and Iona. Southward. To Ostagar.


	3. Chapter 3 Redemption

_The first two chapters described Mikhail (and not to forget: Iona); now it is time to introduce the second hero of this story … _

**Redemption**

_Tower of the Circle of magi, Bloomingtide 5th_

Grey Warden Stroud pushed the piece of metal aside. Guessing from its form it had been the foot of an armor set. Silently he followed First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir thru the halls sighting the damage done. More than a dozen sets of armor, former magically able to defend the Tower. A knight's armor, smashed with a toppled pillar. A crushed wall_. _

"And all this destruction was done by one mage?" The grey warden asked impressed. With an angry voice Greagoir answered "This all had been done by one mage, unable to hold up the rules, yes. And now she has to face the consequences."

While Greagoir stormed away, Stroud inquired from Irving: "Why a pillar?" He pointed to the Knight's armor. Irving, in spite of the circumstances, allowed himself a thin smile. "That sentinel was nearly immune versus magic. She had to circumvent this." Stroud smiled back. "Forceful and inventive, I see."

Irving's smile faded. "Yes. Forceful. That would be the adjective to describe her. Her harrowing is no more than 3 months past and yet … only a few years and I'm sure she will surpass all mages myself included in raw destructive power." He sighted. "If she survives these years and learns to harness her power."

A few minutes later the court had assembled. Greagoir, who would judge the case. Irving, only a silent observer. Stroud and some magi as guests were attending, one of them Senior Enchanter Wynne. Stroud nodded in her direction. She would accompany him to Ostagar to help in the coming battle. On two chairs guarded by two Templars sat two women. The first was a clergy initiate named Lily and to lesser interest for Stroud. But the other …

Large, more than six feet if standing, Stroud guessed. A gangly body, small bosom, long hands, narrow head with piercing grey eyes, an eagle's nose and hair in the color of clouds before a storm. Not very attractive in all, but Stroud was now able to imagine how one person could deal such a destruction. In comparison of the tear-streaked initiate she seemed to be very composed.

Calmly she explained what had happened. How Initiate Lily begged her to help to flee with her love, the mage Jowan. The opening of the main cellar door, the failure to open the phylactery chamber. Searching another entry, destroying of the guardian armors, finally breaking thru the wall_. _

"The whole time Jowan used only sparsely magic, nothing to assume he would be something other than an apprentice. Lily could never have guessed …" As before she tried to clarify Lily's unsuspecting nature. "That's unimportant. She had failed and will go to Aeo …" Small lightning flashed in all directions as she smashed her lithe fist on the stone table. Stunned for a few seconds all heard her surprising furious speech_. _

"No, Greagoir. It is your task to judge us. And it is my task to speak the truth. And no one, no mage and no Templar, not even you will hinder me. That is unfair and has nothing to do with the ways of the maker. Lily failed, yes. But out of the purest of all reasons: love. Do you really think anything you could do to Lily would be more painful than her guilt feelings? What good would it do to imprison her? Give her a chance, please. Greagoir, you always tried to be fair, to protect us as well as the people out there. Give her a mission to redeem her."

The last words were strikingly soft spoken after her outrage, but in seconds she was again hardly controlled anger. "And now let us finish this nonsense. Get me killed and it's done. I really don't know why you had the urge to waste our time with this nonsense." Without awaiting a response she rose and waited for the Templar by her side to lead her out of the chamber. No one spoke or moved all awaiting Greagoir answer; the knight-commander was clearly hard on the edge of his self-control.

"She would make a fine warden, don't you agree? "

Irritated Stroud looked at Wynne. "Really? I'm not sure she is worth the trouble."

Wynn chuckled silently. "Perhaps yes, perhaps not. It is a question how dire is your need of new wardens. And how much work you want to invest. She's both in one, great potential and great discomfort."

Pondering Stroud watched the to-be-judged mage, listened to the discussion between Greagoir, Irving and her. She absolutely refused the option of tranquility, so it was a death or no death decision to be made. Stroud sighed deeply.

"I will regret this one day, I'm sure." With firm steps he came forward. "Commander Greagoir, perhaps I can help. I have a proposal to make … "

_Tower of the Circle of magi, Bloomingtide 6th_

Stroud waited with Wynne in the entrance hall together with Irving, Greagoir and some mages and Templars. The discussion had been long and hard, the most severe obstacle of all things being the mage he wanted to rescue, Natasha Amell. Stroud had to admit not to really understand her reasons. It was something along the line that she helped a blood mage, that seeing as a failure so grave she wanted to be condemned. It ended in a shouting match between her and Greagoir with the Commander having the last word in the matter:

"You said it is my task to judge. So be it. I judge and you will obey the decision. You will not choose the easy way but work hard to redeem threefold what you have done. Or you'll die in the try to do so. Obey my decision and I'll have mercy with Lily. Shut up, I know that's not fair. I have enough of you for years to come. I only want to hear three words of you: I obey, commander."

Natasha supported her on the stone table, her eyes as if she wanted to pulverize Greagoir with her glance, teeth crunching. After a minute the silent audience could hear a very low "I obey, commander."

"Pfff, I wasn't sure she would give in." Wynne uttered in a low voice. "And that was the easy part."

The door opened. Ignoring the assembly Natasha strode to the Grey Warden. Instead of the traditional robe which Wynne wore even for the journey she had chosen light leather pants, jerkin and matching gloves. They made her looking even larger and thinner. But the most obscure possession was her staff. Stroud had seen many different staves in the tower, all types of wood and decoration. But this ended in a two feet long and three inches broad blade. All in all more a spear than a staff. Pondering about this weapon he nearly missed Irving's parting words, the nice answer of Wynne and the not so friendly one from Natasha.

As they finally started to leave the tower Natasha suddenly turned around. Under the irritated looks of the attendants she walked to one of the Templars, leaned her staff at the wall, pulled down his helm to jangle on the floor. Grapping him at his breastplate she pulled him forward and kissed him long and strong. "I'll miss you, Cullen. Don't forget your promise. I never will mine." He nodded, unable to speak a word.

Releasing him she took her staff again, walked to the exit as if nothing had happened. She shot the gasping Greagoir an ice-cold glance. "Don't pretend you didn't know it for months, Commander. I may be a fool, but not deaf or blind. Equally as you."

Not until on the boat Stroud queried: "May I ask what he promised?" Natasha, observing the vanishing tower with a surprising sad expression turned around: "You may not."

Shortly before reaching the shore she nethertheless gave an answer: "After my harrowing I spoke with him. Greagoir had assigned him the task to strike me down if I failed. Something of a Templar test on his own. It was unnecessary. At the time when … Enchanter Crellack died … Cullen and I promised us to kill the other if we ever succumbed to a demon."

Without waiting for an answer Natasha left the boat and began the voyage to Ostagar …


	4. Chapter 4 Worth a journey

**Worth a journey**

_Southern Border of Highever, 9:30, Bloomingtide 6th_

It was a gorgeous sunset, nearly enough to forget why they were on the road. Nearly. Mikhail had been very quiet the whole day, only here and there showing Duncan the best direction out of his homelands. Once he entered a tiny village to buy some practical clothes for Iona. And shoes. Her own were in no way suitable for a long march. She was working hard to hold their pace, but it was undeniable that she would have problems with her soft feet. They had covered more than 25 miles as Mikhail assumed; enough to be relatively sure for the night. While Duncan prepared a simple meal, Mikhail attended Iona's feet. Gently he pricked her blisters, purified and salved her wounds.

"Tomorrow you'll wear my socks from today." Iona's expression conjured the first smile on Mikhail's features since leaving his parents. "I know it's disgusting. But they will be soft and protect your feet. I show you some tricks of my soldiers. You'll have to learn or you'll never reach Ostagar on foot."

Iona gave a weary nod. Her feet were aching, now a little better from the salves. She wasn't sure how long she could endure such marches. Duncan said something about a week to Ostagar. He was very firm and made it clear she would have to leave if she couldn't hold their pace. "Perhaps it would be better if I stay in the next village, Mikhail. I'll only delay you both."

Caressing Mikhail's fingers stroke her cheek, causing ripples of emotions in Iona. "No, Iona. That wouldn't be safe. I told you that you would see your daughter again. But you're a witness of Howe's treason. I'm sure he would have you killed if he knew that you survived. In Ostagar you'll be safe. And after the battle we'll go with the king to Denerim."

A small tear ran down her face. Softly Iona gripped Mikhail's head and started to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted. "No, Iona. That's … that's not good." Not understanding Iona waited for an explanation.

"I can't be, Iona. I'm a human noble and you're an elf from an alienage. It … Iona, please wait." Mikhail held her tight, Iona trembling in a mix of pain and disgust. "Please, Iona, I didn't want to hurt you. You're a friend for me. But you are an elf too. You have to live with your people. I've seen it in the Highever alienage. They hated me. For being a human. For being a noble. If you'd stay with me, they would hate you too. Your daughter, she should grow up with other elven children, liked from all, not shunned because her mother is the … concubine of a human noble."

Now her tears freely flowing down her face Iona whispered: "I know. You're right. But please hold me tonight." She cuddled in his arms and while the sun vanished behind the horizon Iona feel asleep, secure in Mikhail's arms.

_Lake Calenhad, 9:30, Bloomingtide 7th_

At earliest sunrise Stroud, Wynne and Natasha left the little village with a small sailing ship. Marlow, owner of the ship and captain of the 4-men-crew had assured that they would reach Redcliffe before nightfall of the second day. Natasha had occupied a place at the ship's bow, the somewhat nervous crew giving her much room. Only once Brat, the old helmsman, was bold enough to address her with a question.

"What do you think: will the weather hold? I'm not sure with the clouds over there?" Irritated she glanced in his direction, then to the clouds. "They'll wander to the south, but not fast enough, we'll outrun them."

Curious following the short dialogue Stroud wandered to Wynne. Without awaiting a question the old mage explained. "Natasha, she always liked boat trips; she had often been on the lake. And the sailors assume her to be a storm witch, able to read and influence weather."

Frowning Stroud asked her. "And is she? Can she do such things? I never heard of such magic, at least not in respect of circle magi." Wynne answered with a shrug. "Who knows for sure? It's not unheard of and regarding Natasha there are only a few things I would not expect to be true."

Some hours later, the southern end of Lake Calenhad already in sight, Stroud probed Wynne anew of her knowledge about the young mage. "It is not standard behavior to ask about the past of our candidates. But … this Crellack she mentioned …"

Wynne looked at him intensely. At last she gave him a nod. "It is very personal to her. But perhaps you should know, especially because you have to understand her hate for blood magic. I heard you grey wardens are not as dismissing about this kind of magic as circle and chantry are. This could cause problems."

"Natasha came to the circle at the age of twelve. About her parents I know nothing. From the beginning she was a very problematic child. She had too much energy, too many emotions. Several times there had been fights with other apprentices, some in magic, and some with fists. Once she attacked her mentor. Me." Wynne smiled lightly. "To my fortune she wasn't nearly of her today's power. One of the other Enchanters, Crellack, persuaded Irving to leave Natasha for him to train. And so he did."

"Crellack was a City Elf from the Alienage in Denerim, very kind, very patient. Natasha could rant at him for hours, cry, weep. He always stayed calm. And after some days it showed effect. Crellack trained her in magic, in the ways of the City elves. And he taught her the art of staff-fighting. You surely wondered about her staff. It was a present of Crellack to her at her 16th Birthday. She trained much with it and while probably not a match to a fighter like you, she was able to hold her own against the younger Templars on the training ground."

"She must have been around 19 when Crellack and Natasha left the circle to visit Denerim's alienage. There had to be a fair and Crellack wanted Natasha to witness it. Halfway to Denerim it happened. Out of bad luck they stumbled upon a blood mage and his minions. A fight erupted, the blood mage killed Crellack, imprisoned Natasha. He kept her as a slave, controlled thru blood magic. He tortured her, did … other things to her, physically and magically. The mage wanted to convert her, causing unimaginable pain and pleasures with his magic, pleasures her will and her faith didn't want but her body couldn't resist. She could do nothing but I'm sure she always believed she could have done more to resist these feelings."

"Weeks passed and the blood mage lost his patience. The tortures increased to break her will. In the last moment our Templars, searching for Crellack and Natasha, found her. In the following fight the Templars were unable to defeat the Blood Mage, who sacrificed his minions to enhance his magic. While Cullen – the Templar she kissed yesterday – fought the mage, Natasha tapped into her soul, releasing all what was left of her magic to attack him. It nearly killed her. But now Cullen was able to cut him down. She was barely alive when they reached the circle and it took months for her to recover."

Wynne sighed. "That was the story of Crellack. And that is the reason why she couldn't simply accept Greagoir's clemency at the tower. She was tricked into helping a blood mage. There is no greater sin for her."

Stroud nodded, now understanding his young pupil a little bit more.


	5. Chapter 5 The Ritual

**The Ritual**

_Camp Ostagar, 9:30, Bloomingtide 16th, noon_

_Damn it._ A little too late Mikhail tried to evade and had to block another strike, his shield arm already aching. "Faster. Less blocking, more evading. Your arm would break before my sword does." Ser Cauthrien's advice came coldly, without any sign of condescension. Clearly she was used to spare with 'lesser' training partners and he could understand why. In Highever he was always proud to be one of the better shield warriors, but against Ser Cauthrien's greatsword he was not match, not by a wide call.

They arrived two days before after nearly eight days of strenuous marching, Iona being at the end of her vigor. But she had reached the camp and now she could rest, while Mikhail prepared for the battle. To his disappointment Fergus had not been in the camp and won't be for some days. So after a short discussion with King Cailan about the events at Highever he began to train.

Ser Cauthrien, captain of Loghain's guard, agreed to teach him how to defend against two-handed weapons. Now he wasn't sure that to be a good idea. A little bit relieved he saw Alistair waving to end the session. Mikhail saluted Ser Cauthrien and tried to leave without too much signs of his pains. Neither Cauthrien's lack of sweat nor Alistair's broad smile was really helpful.

"How is the arm?" Mikhail frowned, and then pressed a smile. "He feels like broken. I know I should be out of or under her range but she is too fast."

The tent of Iona and Saleena, a Chasind scout, was empty, the elf surely working with the wounded. Since arriving at the camp she tried to make herself helpful, fulfilling menial tasks for the nurses. Alistair gave him time to wash and dress some clean shirt before directing to Duncan.

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, Bloomingtide 17th, evening_

With tired hands Mikhail followed Ser Jory to the little camp between the stone statues of a forgotten past. Daveth, a hunter who prior to his calling to the grey wardens had lived in the Korcari Wilds, had shown them the place. It seemed to be secure. Relatively at least as had shown the dead Chasind warrior. Jory and Mikhail had used the time before eating to cover him with stones. No more feast for the wolves.

Mikhail felt very hungry. It had been an arduous afternoon, since Duncan sent them five to the wilds. "Collect four vials of darkspawn blood, find the grey warden tower and retrieve some scrolls. Simple."

Yeah, sure it was. Mikhail laughed drily. Around a full score of darkspawn they had killed, mostly small groups, but one fight had been a close call against a group of around ten darkspawn with some archers. It was the first time he saw Natasha cast a spell. Or to be exactly: he felt her cast the spell. Some darkspawn had surrounded her and while he tried to get near and help her, she lashed out with magic, knocking all of them down, Mikhail included. Before he was able to catch breath and stand up, she had used the time to kill two of them with her staff. "Fool" was the only comment to his complaints about being hurt.

"We are not far away from the tower, one hour or two at most. But surely there will be more darkspawn waiting, the tower being a good outlook. After recovering the scrolls we'll go back to the camp. No Daveth, I won't say what will happen at the camp tomorrow. You'll have to wait as all others."

After his little speech Alistair led it to Mikhail to arrange the watches. It seemed a little strange that he backed down so easily, acting more like a scout than a leader in the group. So it came to Mikhail to make all decisions, especially coming to battles. For a moment he hesitated but then he also gave Natasha a watch duty. She had to be more exhausted than all others, having arrived at Ostagar the same morning with senior grey warden Stroud. Stroud, he left the camp after Duncan sent them to the Korcari as a Messenger to the orlaisian grey wardens as far as Mikhail knew.

Natasha nodded and prepared for sleep. Even Daveth didn't dare some comment about her disrobing amidst the men. While back in the camp it had been Mikhail's job to declare Iona off limits for the charming hunter, a single glance of Natasha had ended cold all advances towards her. With these thoughts about creepy Natasha sleep overwhelmed Mikhail.

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, Bloomingtide 18th, morning_

Irritated Mikhail watched as Alistair bandaged his leg. He was the only one in the group except Mikhail with some skills in tending wounds, but Mikhail was sure he could have done it better. And with less pain. It had been a hard battle. Only eight darkspawn, but mixed with two archers and the first Hurlock Shaman so far. If Natasha hadn't been able to take him out of combat with a manacle spell …

The Hurlock leader had succumbed after a long fight and not before inflicting a bad wound to Mikhail's leg. It would be a long way back to the camp. Natasha neared with a sad face. "I found the chest, but it is broken. Nothing was in it."

Alistair cursed aloud. "Ok, doesn't help. We'll go back and …"

Mikhail blinked. One second before there hadn't been a woman and now … Black clothes, here and there showing skin, a narrow face, piercing eyes, black hair, fit body, all in all a full contrast to Iona and with the air of a dangerous wildcat. She smirked at Mikhail. "Do you like what you see?" Blushing Mikhail shut his mouth, the smack from Natasha against his head helping to acquire his neutral stance. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" He looked around but couldn't detect any other … Chasinds? She looked like one for sure.

"I could ask the same and with more right with you being the strangers here." While Jory, Daveth and Alistair mumbled something about Chasind and witches of the wild, the strange woman locked eyes with Natasha, giving only a slightest nod. "I am Natasha, aspirant of the grey wardens and looking for the content of a broken chest, as you surely guess." The woman gave a wicked smile. "I did. You can call me Morrigan. I know where the content is. If you like I will show you."

Before the men could argue anew, Daveth rambling something about transformed in a toad or plugged in a cooking pot, Natasha agreed. "But we have to go slowly, my comrade thought it to be clever to throw his leg into an axe swing." Morrigan laughed; a noise which sent shivers over Mikhail's spine. "Perhaps my mother is in the mood to tend the wound."

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, Bloomingtide 19th, late afternoon_

The group rounded a little lake; now the camp was no more far away. As promised Morrigan had brought them to the hut of her mother. It was a very strange meeting, her mother being a mix of an old nut and something other. But she handed out the scrolls and tended the wound. Having no time to rest it was not healed, but at least closed. He had to spare the leg, avoid strain. Morrigan led them out of the Wilds, all the way chattering with Natasha about local herbs and animals. The women seemed to get along very well, only skipping the theme Circle of Magi after a few very unfriendly remarks of Morrigan. As suddenly as she had appeared Morrigan left the group.

A wolf wailed in pain. They heard the barking of another. Ignoring his leg Mikhail followed the others, only to detect the chasind scout Saleena fighting off a pack of wolves. And there was Iona. Iona? What by the maker… He stormed to her side, shoving away an attacking wolf with his shield, slicing the flank of another with his sword. After a few moments the last wolves fled. Burning with anger Mikhail faced Iona. "What are you doing here? The wild is not a place for …" His trembling leg gave away, the wound opened anew.

Shocked Iona gripped him, enough sorrow in her face to quell his anger. She showed him a bundle of flowers, white with a red middle. "I gathered some of them for a dog. And Saleena agreed to protect me. We couldn't anticipate these wolves so near the camp. Sorry for your wound." Mikhail tried to soothe her with a smile. "Dog. It's not nice to call me that, even if I behave so sometimes." Iona gave him a nudge. "Not you. I meant a real dog. You know: four pawns, big jaws, and long tail." She blushed a bit. "One of the Mabaris is wounded and the kennel master needed some herbs."

Alistair shook his head. "I fear the battle of Ostagar is over for you. This will take days to heal." Iona sighed relieved, switching to a regretful expression as Mikhail scrutinized her. "There will be enough fights in the future. Let's bring him back to the camp."

_Camp Ostagar, 9:30, Bloomingtide 21st, late evening_

It took long for Mikhail to fall asleep. Iona didn't know what happened at the old temple. Mikhail left hours ago with Alistair, Duncan and the other Aspirants, subsisting to undergo the ritual and become a full-fledged grey warden, despite him not being able to participate in the coming battle. Alistair brought them back later, Mikhail and Natasha, both visibly shaken. Wide-eyed Iona heard from Alistair that Daveth and Jory had not survived the ritual. And now Mikhail slept, uneasy, with bad dreams. Iona caressed his cheek, tracing the lines of his faces. With a sigh she slipped under his blanket, held him, gave him comfort thru the night.


	6. Chapter 6 Five Friends

**Five Friends**

_Battle of Ostagar/Camp, 9:30, Bloomingtide 24th _

Cursing his leg Mikhail walked over to his chosen vantage point. Some 50 feet below the army had assembled in the narrow gap to block off the advancing darkspawn army. Yesterday Alistair had told him about the battle plan. King Cailan, Duncan, the other grey wardens and half of the army would play the bait for the enemy, holding out long enough to buy Loghain time to position the rest of the army and crush into the darkspawns' flank and rear. Mikhail was not really impressed. It was the old hammer and anvil tactic, successfully used more than once from Maric in his battles against the Orlaisians. But sometimes simple plans were the best.

Mikhail gave a tired wave to Natasha and Alistair. Their task would be to light a fire on the top of the tower of Ishal, standing on the other side of the gap, connected to the camp thru a stone bridge. The fire would be the signal for Loghain to advance. It was a small but important task. Cailan personally had selected the grey wardens to do it, a bit disappointed Mikhail not being part of the group. But his wound had been too severe, Duncan ordering him to watch the camp with a small retinue of soldiers.

He was furious about Iona and her foray in the wilds, the result him being unable to participate in the battle. He was furious about Iona being relieved seeing Mikhail in the relatively security of the camp, while surely hundreds of soldiers would die today. And he was very disappointed with himself, not being able to quench the anger. Iona had done nothing wrong. She risked her life to help the kennel master. She cared enough about him to want to see him in safety. And all he could feel was his disappointment to not participate in the battle.

The noise of thousands of feet permeated the air, the clatter of weapons and armor. The enemy came in sight, as if the wood himself became alive. So many. Five to one, perhaps ten to one against the waiting soldiers he assumed. Could they win? Amidst the known hurlocks and genlocks, approaching like a living wave, swam giant ogres, double their height and tenfold their mass. How could anyone hope to stop such a monster? Unrest in the lines of soldiers, the officers tried to assure composure. All waiting for the attack. There a golden glitter, Cailan. And beside him Duncan. Looking up Mikhail saw Natasha's hair vanish on the other side of the bridge, following Alistair to the tower.

_Battle of Ostagar/Tower of Ishal, 9:30, Bloomingtide 24th _

Alistair's sword sliced thru the hurlock's armor with ease, shimmering with Natasha's magic on it. A genlock farther away directed his brethren to let their arrows hail down on Alistair's small group, only to be killed thru magic seconds later. He really exploded inwards out, showering the archers with a mix of blood, flesh and bone splitters, knocking them to the ground. And above all, disturbing him the most, was the song, Natasha's song.

It seemed like hours but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Arriving at the tower they found the soldiers in a lost battle against a small horde of darkspawn. Losing no time in wondering how they could be here, Natasha and Alistair collected a good handful of soldiers and advanced into the tower, Alistair at the lead, Natasha following, shielding against archers, shackling a lone shaman with her magic, enhancing the might of Alistair's sword with her magic.

Surely she was no fireball throwing battle wizard of times past, but Alistair was glad to have her on his side. If she only could stop her song. Since the fighting began in earnest Natasha had started to sing aloud some foreign song, chasind as Alistair mused, not understanding the words, but from the tunes he was sure it to be about some nature force killing all in his path. Natasha was in a full battle fury, throwing her magic this way, shielding there, once chopping off the head of a genlock rogue who thought her to be an easy target for his backstabbing.

And suddenly they were on the tower's top. There the unlightened fire, the corpses of some soldiers, towering above them an ogre, bellowing his anger as a fuming bull. Throwing of the shackle spell he charged in the group, Alistair dragging Natasha aside in last second. The young grey warden attacked the monster, targeting against legs and stomach, evading the powerful blows. The last three soldiers attacked from flanks and rear while Natasha tried to shield Alistair from the most vicious attacks. A pool of ogre blood, Alistair slipped. Shaken from the impact on the floor he only could watch in horror as the ogre raised his club to give him death, reducing Alistair to pulp. The ogre staggered hit from an unseen force, hurled back two steps, tripped over a casket. With all remaining power Alistair pulled himself up again, one two three steps, a jump on the beast's breast, knocking him finally down, piercing his head with his sword thru the gaping mouth. Behind him Natasha stumbled, fall to the ground, fully exhausted. The song had ended. For this time.

With trembling legs Alistair took a torch and ignited the fire. Their task was done.

_Battle of Ostagar/Camp, 9:30, Bloomingtide 24th _

All was lost. Mikhail had tears in his eyes. Unable to do something, to prevent it from happening, he watched the signal from the tower, late but not too late. But … Loghain didn't attack. Horns blew the retreat. Why? The army in the gap was unable to hold on. A giant ogre took Cailan up as if he were a puppy, broke his backbone with a snap of his hand. Duncan, killing the ogre as his last deed, followed seconds later, swarmed by a mass of darkspawn.

And now a smaller force attacked the camp. The small retinue of soldiers was not match for them. Mikhail tried to assemble a guard, holding the darkspawn back for a few minutes so the civilians, camp followers and nurses could flee. Iona, oh Iona, please flee, he thought, cutting a hurlock down. There laid a dead elf. Red hair. Mikhail sighed. Not Iona, but … he couldn't remember the name, a friend of her from Denerim, working at the camp. A second of inattention, a spear cutting thru his defenses, stabbing him in the breast. The muscles gave in, no more following the bellowing orders of his will. On the ground, sky above, the shadow of the darkspawn, a flash in the form of a hound.

"Warrick, save him." All around him darkening he mused: _no, Warrick is dead, he can't be here_. A fearful voice. "Don't die." All went black.

_Battle of Ostagar/Tower of Ishal, 9:30, Bloomingtide 24th _

Natasha senseless, the last soldier falling to an axe swing, Alistair stood guard over the body of his comrade, determined to kill as many darkspawn as possible. Heaps of cadavers told from his prowess and the might of Natasha's sword spell, but now he was staggering from blood loss. The darkspawn advanced anew. Wings flapped. A bellow, a shroud of flame engulfing the darkspawn. Alistair was unable to move a hand as he saw the stone floor nearing, falling down like a felled tree.

_Battle of Ostagar/somewhere in the wilds, 9:30, Bloomingtide 25th _

Glimpses. Sky between trees. The smell of a dog, branches below him, rocking movements, a figure, blond hair in the sun. A gentle voice, a hand pouring water in his mouth. Blackness.

Awakening anew. A lone wolf watching them. A woman with black hair and piercing eyes. "Morrigan?_"_ As a whisper the name left Mikhail's lips.

_After the Battle of Ostagar/Flemeth's hut, 9:30, Bloomingtide 26th _

The smell of vegetables and herbs filled the air. The crackle of a herd fire had awakened him. He felt so tired, was barely able to move his head. Morrigan? It hadn't been a dream? "Where …" Mikhail stopped, startled from the croaky tone of his own voice. Morrigan walked over, stared silently. "Where you are? In the wilderness, in the hut of my mother. You remember me? I'm Morrigan. Do you remember anything about the battle and your way after?"

Mikhail thought about it. "Only glimpses. Don't know what had been a dream and what reality. Have you saved me? "

Morrigan shook her head. "No, I only had to show the way. Mother tended your wounds, so in a way she saved you. But if you want to thank somebody it would be her." She pointed to another bed, a slim figure wrapped in blankets, only blond hair to be seen, a Mabari lying in front of her asleep.

"I really have no idea how such a puppy could rescue you from the battle, but I found her dragging you thru the woods, nearly senseless." Mikhail wasn't sure whom Morrigan meant with puppy, the Mabari or the figure. But he heard the reluctant respect in her voice. Iona … Mikhail drifted asleep.

_After the Battle of Ostagar/Flemeth's hut, 9:30, Bloomingtide 28th _

"Awake, sleepyhead." Next time Mikhail awoke, he felt much better. A strong hand gripped his shoulder. "Alistair?" The grey warden smiled. "Yes, I am. You thought to be rid of me, yes? Never. I will follow you into your darkest nightmares." His smile vanished. "How do you feel? Even Flemeth was not sure you would survive the wounds and the exertions after the battle." Mikhail listened to his body. "Good. I think I feel good. So far I could expect it. But … how do you come here? Last I saw the signal lightning on the tower. And Loghain's retreat." Mikhail crunched his teeth.

Alistair admitted. "I can't really say. Somehow Flemeth saved Natasha and me from the tower. Natasha was senseless by exertion, throwing one spell to many to save my hide from an ogre. And I was overwhelmed by darkspawn. Then there was darkness. And now I'm here. Natasha is outdoors, she's ok. My wounds are nearly healed, tended from Flemeth. Two days ago Morrigan found you in the wilderness, disoriented dragged from these elven lass and her Mabari of course. She's with Natasha yet, if you want to make proper thanks to her."


	7. Chapter 7 A task for every one

**A task for every one**

_Heading for Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 4th_

For the umpteenth time Alistair looked back. Still there were no followers to detect. Were they really secured? Morrigan said so, but … Alistair shook his head. He had to trust her. And she had to trust him. All would be for nothing otherwise. The grey warden looked ahead. Morrigan showed the way, Mikhail near behind her to defend them against perils on the way, then Iona with her Mabari, Natasha and Alistair as the rearguard.

Mikhail had decided this to be the marching order at least until Lothering. Lothering, Alistair mused. A small village he had seen on the way to Ostagar. He remembered an inn and the chantry. There would be perhaps a hundred inhabitants, a few soldiers, no palisade to defend. Not that it would help against the darkspawn army.

Another time he looked around and then at Morrigan. Had it only been one day since Flemeth insisted on Morrigan accompanying the group? "She will help you with her knowledge about the wilderness and her magic."

Alistair's try to ease the situation – with Morrigan no more excited about her mother's wish than the grey wardens – with some funny comments about Morrigan's ability to cook were answered with a very cool glare from Morrigan and Natasha's unhelpful remark that this position was already filled with Iona.

Forgetting Morrigan and her mother a discussion ensued between a very angered Mikhail – "Iona is not our servant" – and an unnatural calm Natasha, her smirk enraging the normally calm Mikhail even more.

"Now shut up. Exactly you have no right in telling me how to treat Iona." Mikhail calmed instantly, shocked by her words. "No, she is no servant, but our companion. Same rights, same duties. We all have our duties. You lead, I shield with magic, Morrigan mends you, Alistair bites and Warrick makes funny remarks. Or other way round."

It had been her first joke about Alistair and Warrick, surely not the last, as Alistair feared. "And Iona's duties lay in the camp. Until she learns to swing a sword this will be our arrangement."

In the evening Alistair and Mikhail had a discussion about the plan of action. Where should they go first? They had treaties for alliance from the dalish elves, the dwarves of Ozrammar and the circle of magi. Alistair himself had favored Redcliffe and Arl Eamon as the first stop. Mikhail was a bit reluctant about that. The reason seemed to be a personal aversion towards the Arl. Alistair had hoped for Natasha to mediate. "No. You two decide. I've only lived in the tower so far. I know nothing about such things. Politics, treaties, nice words among 'friends', that's not my living."

The clattering of wood and occasional cry of pain broke the endless and fruitless discussion. Looking after the reason of the noises they found Natasha training Iona in the art of staff fighting, Morrigan watching them silently. "Alistair, come here." Feeling caught Alistair followed Natasha's comment, regretting it minutes later being the punching ball for harmless strokes from Iona and not so gentle ones from Natasha. "Against an armored foe don't target the breast or shoulder, but arms and mostly legs. Knock him down … like that."

Strike to the knee, whirl around, strike to the head. Alistair was down and really had enough. "And don't forget to show fear. It won't help against darkspawn, sure, but bandits and other dumb men will have no problem in believing you to be a frightened girl until you knock them out. "

An hour later – Alistair and Mikhail having suspended the decision until Lothering – Mikhail asked Natasha why she trained Iona with the staff. "Simple, she has to learn to defend herself. Every woman should be able to do that. She won't be in the middle of the fight, I hope, but you nether know. And I don't want to see Alistair or you running back playing the gentleman because Iona is threatened."

"Alright, but please use a normal staff yourself for the training and not the one with the blade."

"Sure. And the darkspawn I'll tell only to use blunt weapons, right? Iona has to learn fast. If she's too slow, it will hurt. I cut her, Morrigan mends the wound. Better a cut from me than a slash from the next darkspawn. "

_Near Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 8th_

The wood leaving behind they saw the first fields and pastures. No cattle was to be seen, the scattered farmsteads seemed left. It was a creepy sight. But there was Lothering. No signs of fights, a large number of wagons and tents stood on a field nearby. Many humans were on the streets. Only a mile to go and they could …

"Hey you. " A dozen figures appeared from the bushes, seedy figures with a wild assortment of armor and weapons, some former soldiers, others simple peasants. "These are hard times for all of us. Don't you think you could spare some of your wealth to us poor men? "

"Scram! Clear out, filth. Natasha snarled. I really have better things to do, so leave before …"

"Before what, Darling?" The bandit leader seemed very self-secure, clearly thinking the greater number to be enough against Mikhail and Alistair. Indeed he had a few seconds to wonder about Morrigan's exhilarated laughing before something invisible hit him, sending him to the dusty ground.

"Before that … darling. Anybody else not served?" Natasha looked around. She … smiled. Alistair sighed. He had to speak to her about her magic-fist-diplomacy later.

With a mix of anger and sheer desperation the bandits attacked, a while hoping to win thru their greater number. But within a minute half of them laid sprawling on the ground, the rest in retreat except an especially brave or stupid one. A terrified cry escaped Iona's throat, as the bandit gripped her. Stunned for a second the bandit made no try to evade as Natasha's staff hit him.

"The cry was very realistic, Iona, but you have to follow up with a strike."

Her trembling shoulders made it clear that Iona was in no mood for jokes. In an unknown gentle move Natasha embraced Iona. "Hush, my sweet. It's ok. You won't let a few thugs fear you, or?"

She gripped Iona's chin, eyes locked. "You have survived Ostagar, dragged Mikhail's ass thru miles of darkspawn-infested wilderness. You're strong. You're a woman, not a weakling. You've born a child, what pain could impress you?"

With a last pat on her cheek Natasha strode on.


	8. Chapter 8 A new friend

**A new Friend**

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 8th_

Despair. That was the feeling. It was spread over all inhabitants of Lothering as a thick blanket, draining any hope, any luck, and any future. Mikhail could see it in the eyes of the refugees and in the weak movements of the remaining soldiers and Templars. One of them, guarding the entrance, had told about the cramped quarters and the hunger.

"And now? Seeking quarter? Or Chantry first? The Templar mentioned his officer Ser Bryant to be there and the Revered Mother to be sure." Mikhail waited for suggestions. Natasha had been unusual nervous since arriving in the village. "Perhaps Alistair can ask this Ser Bryant about news. And you look for a quarter. That won't be easy. Myself … I would leave you awhile. I have family here and I'm a bit anxious to know how they fare. Perhaps they already left, but I have to know."

So they parted, Alistair heading for the chantry, Mikhail and Morrigan to the inn, Iona looking for elven refugees – hoping to find the wife of the slain elf Mikhail saw in the camp – and Natasha searching her family.

Words whirled around. Here a mad prophet telling about coming doom. There a chantry sister arguing with a trader about bread prices. A child looked for his mother, refugees lamented about the bandits around Lothering, pilfering from all entering or leaving Lothering. First Mikhail was a bit taken aback with Morrigan searching his proximity, but then he understood: she was … anxious would be too strong a word, irritated would be more exactly. Not accustomed to these sheer masses of people around her, she surely felt a bit out of place. Mikhail suppressed a smile. He all too well could remember his feelings the last days in the wilderness.

Opening the door to the inn, he was nearly swallowed up by the thick air, a mix of alcohol, smoke and body fumes. Accustoming to the bad viewing conditions he saw trouble incoming. Amongst the peasants and villagers, the fleeing soldiers and camp followers, there was a group of soldiers drinking beer, the crest of Loghain on their uniforms. One of them already detected Mikhail and Morrigan, now he spoke rapidly to his officer. Wanting to evade the trouble Mikhail showed Morrigan back to the door, but in that instant it opened and another three soldiers entered. _Damn it._

"Hey, you over there. Yay, you I mean. You're one of these traitorous grey wardens who killed our king, yes? I remember your face. You came to Ostagar with this Duncan-bastard. Loghain pays a lot of money for every warden. Why don't you play nice and hand me over your sword?"

The officer arose with his men. Mikhail counted. Four enemies in front, three behind, perhaps others near. That won't be an easy fight. And all the civilians around. They tried to get out of the way but the room was too crowded. Suddenly a lone chantry sister walked forward, a soldier with the crest of Lothering militia following her.

"Please, dear sirs, this is surely not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Certainly this can be solved in peace, yes?" Loghain's officer seemed unwilling to consider her words, tried to shove her away and get near Mikhail. The grey warden wasn't sure what exactly happened now. Somehow the officer stumbled over his own feet, crashing to the wooden floor with much noise. Holding his bleeding nose he bellowed in anger. "Bitch, you'll regret this. All of you: Attack! "

The officer tried to stand up, being knocked out by the Lothering soldier with his sword pommel. The other soldiers attacked and a confused fight erupted with peasants trying to get out of the way. A lone villager hastily collected some coins on the floor, another stumbled over him. Beer leaked from overturned mugs.

Mikhail tried to shield Morrigan while she targeted the soldiers with her spells, not being able to use her normal area spells. The chantry sister graceful avoided the blows, disarmed one soldier; sent another to the floor with a flat sided swing to his knee. The last was beaten down by the Lothering soldier. Suddenly all was finished, Mikhail and the others panting in the middle. An angry innkeeper, clasping his hands over his hand in despair, showed them the exit. "Out'a here. I don't wanna more fights. Don't come back. "

Mikhail heeded the order, dragging the angry Morrigan with him. The chantry sister dropped the sword and followed outdoors with the soldier in tow. "Thank you for your help. Without both of you it would have been difficult." Mikhail wasn't sure what he should think about her. A sister with combat reflexes, skilled with the sword. And her face … very sweet, yes, but at most … alive. Yes, she seemed to blossom in the wake of the combat. Unusual. Creepy.

"I was happy to help. Especially as it went out to get nobody killed. My name is Leliana. And this is Carver Hawke, a friend of mine." Leliana smiled warmly while Carver nodded approving. "I helped to defend Leliana, but it was the right thing. I've been at Ostagar with my sister. We saw your comrades fighting. This 'the wardens killed the king' is bullshit. But you've to be a bit cautious in Lothering. Else some poor villagers could try to arrest you or something. Now excuse me, I have to look for my sister. She got a few broken rips in the battle and went to Elder Miriam for some cure. See you later, Leliana."

A few moments of silence ensued with Leliana thinking about something, pattering her feet nervously. "So you are a grey warden, yes? This is very … I don't know how to explain. You see, I'm a chantry sister. Or better said: I was one until this morning. I … I had a dream. A kind of vision about the blight. And your order of wardens .I … would like … no, I have to … help. Fight the blight. I … can't really explain now, it's all confusing. But please … please let me go with you, help you. I must."

Mikhail was perplexed. A chantry sister accompanying them? Sure, he was an ardent follower of the maker, but visions … at last it was a mix of Leliana's concerned voice and Morrigan's cynical remarks which let him decide to agree. What followed were an enthusiastic embrace and his not very pious thoughts feeling Leliana's body against his own. "That should be interesting". Yes, Mikhail could only agree wholeheartedly to Morrigan's words.

_In the Chantry_

Alistair sat on a stone bench in the chantry's garden. Softly he stroked the wonderful rose. He found it lonely on an otherwise seemingly dead rose bush in the garden. Even here beauty existed. Careful he stored it away. Alistair sighed. Ser Bryant couldn't help much. His hands full with the rescue of the refugees he also had to consider not to help the searched grey wardens to openly. He showed Alistair on a map the more safe routes to the north and where bandits and darkspawn had been sighted. The situation was dire for the village. Even the younger sisters in the chantry were afraid and that was a bad sign, them being needed to give the believers strength and hope. But even chantry sisters were only human.

Other bad news followed swiftly. Ser Donall, a knight from Redcliffe, had been in the chantry. He was searching for information about the urn of Andraste, a legendary artifact told to content powerful healing magic. The reason was Arl Eamon to be gravely ill. Alistair was very concerned about this news.

With bad feelings he left the chantry and searched for his comrades.

_Graveyard_

Warrick stood very still, not able to do more for his crying mistress. Iona embraced her Mabari, shoulders shaking. _Dead. She is dead. First her father, now her mother. How can I tell Nessa that she is an orphan now? _

Besides the open grave laid a corpse of an elven woman. Iona hadn't to look to see her clearly, the face, and the hair. She had liked Nessa's parents back in Denerim. Both a bit too proud, never allowing others to help them. They told Iona a few days ago that they had to accompany the army to earn money, losing their home in the alienage unrests following that event Iona only wanted to forget. And now she had another reason to reach Denerim, a reason she wasn't eager to accomplish.

The gravedigger rolled the corpse in the grave, began to shove earth in it. There were too many dead to be more respectful, to many corpses awaiting his solemn duty fulfilled. With trembling legs Iona walked away.


	9. Chapter 9 Friend or Foe

**Friend or Foe**

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 8th _

It had been a nice evening. Unwelcome in the inn, all beds occupied by refugees, they set camp at the edge of the village. Natasha had returned and with her came two young women, Tamara and Bethany. As it turned out Bethany was the twin sister of Leliana's gallant soldier Carver, Tamara being their elder sister. Morrigan, bidden by Natasha, used some healing magic on Tamara's broken ribs.

"Why don't you heal her, Natasha?" Natasha quibbled a bit and admitted: "I can't. I never learned any healing magic. I tried once but … perhaps it's not meant for me to learn helpful magic. I can only destroy things."

Morrigan frowned: "Really? Or perhaps you only tried not hard enough. Healing magic is important, especially on our journey. What will you do if I'm wounded? Pray?"

Natasha laughed: "Yes I could do that, if only to annoy you. Sure it would hasten your healing if I pray three times per day." Morrigan's frown deepened. "Don't exert yourself to much. You could equally poke me with a stick."

Natasha gave a sly grin: "I thought about it sometimes. Or I could spank you with it a little."

Tamara left the tent where Morrigan had tended her wounds. "Thank you, Morrigan. When this Hurlock back at Ostagar caught me with his club, I never would have anticipated that it would be you to heal my ribs."

Natasha wondered: "You know Morrigan? " Tamara pondered: "Know? That's too much. We have seen us a few times here in Lothering in the past years."

Morrigan added after a while: "We became acquainted on one of my earlier visits. Not knowing the village and the life therein very well, I had a problem with a chasind trader." Slowly she warmed up to the story. She told how the trader detected her, identified her as a witch of the wilds. "He yelled around, cursed me in his tongue, and called me a witch. With the Templars nearby it was a bit dangerous. But then a young woman stepped forward, shielded me against him."

Tamara continued. "That was me. I never liked that special Chasind. He often leered at the young women in village, made smeary remarks. Now it was time for a little payback." Morrigan chuckled. "She accused the Chasind of cursing me, the frightened poor little girl. I was near tears." Morrigan blinked. "The villagers believed her and took the Chasind in custody. Two days later he was released, me being in the wilds again."

"And you, Bethany?" Natasha addressed her cousin. "You learned her later too, I suppose?" Bethany, being very silent until now, shook her head." No, I've never seen Morrigan before. Tamara is older and has other friends." Bethany embraced her sister and hugged her, Tamara showing deep affection for her. "She is the best sister I could have, but that doesn't mean were clinging together all day."

Natasha marveled. "Oh, I thought … yes, ok." For Natasha at least it was clear that Morrigan knew Bethany. And she was … uncomfortable with Bethany around. Natasha had no idea why but it was not the time to deepen it.

"How long will you remain in Lothering, Natasha?" She sighed. "I don't think very long. One day, perhaps two. Only get some rest and then go on. We have much to do, many miles to cover. As soon as we decide where to go first, we'll leave. You must know we want to speak to some people out there in the name of the grey warden order, renew old treaties against the blight: mages, dwarves, dalish elves and the Arl of Redcliffe. Much to do and we're still discussing about the best order."

Tamara nodded. "I see. Redcliffe I know a bit. The street is sure supposedly. But perhaps the Dalish would be a good idea. A few weeks ago I met a clan at Benwick. It's a Hamlet a half day to the east. You have simply to follow the stream. They wanted to leave the region, but perhaps other clans arrived. They often stop in Benwick, because it is smaller than Lothering and the village elder has good connections to the dalish tribes. As far as a human can, of course."

The evening proceeding further, Tamara watched her silent sister. Making a grimace she asked: "You have been there this afternoon, yes? I saw the water and bread." Poking in the fire Bethany nodded. "Yes. I know what he is, but to die like that … it's not right. The maker …"

Tamara hissed: "Yeah, the maker. He helped so much when this swine killed our friends. If he had honor he would accept my challenge but no. So he will rot in this cage or be eaten by darkspawn, I don't care. Hopefully he will die in agony."

"Please, Tamara, don't say so. Bethany is right." Leliana stopped, explained to all. "Two weeks ago a Qunari slaughtered a family near Lothering. They were friends of Tamara and Bethany. He killed all, men, women and children. Then he waited for the militia, didn't resist capture in spite being surely able to escape. No one knows why he had done this horrible deed. The revered mother ordered him to be put in a cage. With all order lost in the moment he will supposedly die therein from hunger or darkspawn. "

"We have to go. This Qunari gossip darkens my mood. See you tomorrow." The sisters left the camp.

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 9th _

"There he is." Leliana pointed to a cage wherein a huge and powerful creature stood. Without flinching he answered their stares. Mikhail pondered. "He would be a great help in the fights, don't you think so?" With Alistair speaking against releasing the murderer, assistance came from an unexpected side: Morrigan. "He would be most useful, indeed. What good could it do letting him rot in this cage? Surely he should better fight some darkspawn."

Mikhail nodded and addressed the prisoner. "I'm Mikhail. I heard you are a prisoner because you killed a family. Is this correct? Did you do this?" With a deep, solemn voice the Qunari answered. "I'm Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari. It's true, I killed these people." Mikhail locked eyes with Sten, staying silent for minutes, trying to read something therein about the character of this strange man. He was surprised by himself, feeling that he trusted Sten, in spite of what he heard him having done.

"I'm a grey warden and want to fight the blight. But we're too few, need skillful help to succeed. Would you accompany us, help us?" Sten showed no feelings as he nodded gravely. "I will. Let me out and I follow you and fight at your side to find redemption. "That being resolved it had been relatively easy – with Leliana's support – to persuade the Revered Mother in releasing Sten. But Natasha saw another problem arising in form of a charging cloud of anger, Tamara.

"No. Never. How could you release him? He's a killer. He should die."

"You're right; I should die for my deed. But I will die in combat against the darkspawn."

"You want to die in fight? You can." A sword clattered to the ground in front of Sten. "Take it, defend yourself." Raging with anger Tamara drew her own weapon.

Stunned the group watched, Natasha trying to stop her cousin, Sten reluctantly picking up the weapon. "I don't want to fight you. But I've sworn to help the grey warden. So I have to live, at least a while."

"Mikhail, do something, stop this. "Natasha pulled his arm and shook him.

"It's your cousin. Do something yourself. If she is stupid enough to challenge him with her broken rips and all, it's his right to defend himself."

Natasha went pale, staring at the two combatants. Her cousin was a good fighter, fast and nimble. But the Qunari was way too powerful. One hit and it would be over. The face of Aunt Leandra, Tamara's mother appeared in her mind. How could she … never could she allow it to happen.

"_Stop it." _Stomping with her staff on the ground Natasha released a wave of magic, sending Tamara to the ground and Sten staggering a few steps back. Tamara tried to stand up with an acrobatic roll over her shoulder but felt herself bound in magical shackles, unable to move yet a finger.

Sten, trying to charge in combat again found Natasha stepping between the combatants, a figure crackling with small lightning. "Don't. The fight has ended. Go." With Sten unmoving, Natasha hissed: "You are the murderer here, not Tamara. She could have killed you in the cage as easily as you could now. You want redemption? Begin with searching for an adequate foe."

"A foe like you?" Sten asked.

"I'm not your foe – yet. But perhaps we have to settle this one day. And I promise you to kill you slowly and painfully if you ever attack a member of my family again. Now go all of you except Morrigan. I need your help."

The group finally leaving, Natasha went to Tamara. "I know you hate me now. Perhaps you will understand later, perhaps not. You can't be as irresponsible with your life as … as I am. You must live to defend your family. They need you. Farewell." Striding away with the picture of Tamara's face, eyes glaring in helpless rage, Natasha gave Morrigan a sign. With a small gesture the witch send Tamara into sleep. Released from the magical grip Tamara slumped to the ground.

_Family is bad. _


	10. Chapter 10 Sweet nothings

**Sweet nothings**

_Camp 10 miles north of Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 10th evening _

Finally all tents were put up. Leliana helped Iona with the meal, Alistair and Mikhail circling the two beauties eager to help. Iona had mixed feelings this evening. On one side she really enjoyed Leliana's company. The chantry sister was friendly, laughed often, and had seemed very balanced. What a contrary to boiling volcano Natasha or knife-tongue Morrigan.

On the downside nobody could oversee the interest Mikhail and Alistair showed. Since Leliana changed her chantry clothes to a set of red leather which protected her surely but also accentuated her feminine figure, the two wardens behaved like little boys. Iona was jealous. And it did nothing to enhance her mood, that she wasn't able to hide that feeling.

A score meters away Morrigan sat in front of her tent, apart from the others as always. "Aren't they cute? Little boys with a new toy puppet. What do you think, who will win?" Natasha snorted. "Who cares? As long as they don't stare on her ass in the fights they can do acrobatic threesomes in their tent as long as they want."

Morrigan chuckled." And you, what's with you? Which one would you prefer? The stony Mikhail or the naïve Alistair? Experienced man or trainable puppy? Or perhaps more the lovely Leliana? Women are not my own taste but I heard some dirty talk about the life of circle apprentices. "

Natasha frowned deeply. "Neither." Staring in the fire she remained silent for a while, lastly explaining. "Sure, both men are sweet to look at. But that's not enough. Two times in my life I had a lover. Or to be correct: I wanted them to be my lover. And both times they valued duty more than me. Alistair and Mikhail are the same type of men: Duty, honor and glory. Surely I don't seek the one eternal love, but likewise I have no desire to be cast aside someday because some principle demands it."

Morrigan nodded. "Love is a weakness, but a woman must have some self-esteem. " With a sly grin she continued. "Two non-lovers, you say. Does that mean you never … I thought Alistair to be the only virgin here in camp."

Hoping for a little amusement and a blushing Natasha, Morrigan was set aback by the fiery glare in Natasha's eyes. "I'm not. Once there was a man, but you hardly could call him my lover." Slightly trembling Natasha sat there, memories flickering in her head.

Morrigan didn't know what to do. Say sorry? Embrace her? The mage was clearly unnerved from this theme, but the witch was unused to comfort someone. "Enough of that. It's over. I killed that man. Spit on his grave. Let us speak above other things. Please tell me from the wilderness …"

Morrigan was relieved about the change. With stars glittering above the two women she told from her youth, the life in the wilds, and the time as a shapeshifter …

Natasha long asleep, Morrigan also prepared for bed. Shortly before sleep overwhelmed her, she mused about Natasha exclude the question of Leliana and femme relationships.

_On the street Lothering - Redcliffe, 9:30, Justinian 12th noon _

Mikhail was irritated. The whole morning Iona evaded him even going so far as ignoring his helping hand climbing obstacles. He had no idea why she behaved in this way. "Women", he sighed. Now, while they took a short rest, he wanted to get an explanation. First Iona tried to evade him anew, but lastly he gripped her arm. "Iona, please, stand still. What is it about? Why are you so … evasive? What have I done? If I have done something stupid, please excuse me."

Iona frowned, broke her arm away from his grip, snarled: "If you don't know, you surely won't understand." Taking a few deep breaths she continued. "And by the way: you should have stopped that fight between Tamara and Sten. You freed this murderer, you are responsible for him. What if he had killed her?"

Slowly Mikhail felt angry himself. "I'm not responsible for everything. Not for Sten's actions and surely not for Natasha's family. Sten and Natasha are both grown up and don't need a nurse to solve their problems. If you think yourself childish and in need of a nanny I may look around if anyone … "

The slap was sharp and loud, Iona casting angry glares before walking away without a word, leaving a stunned Mikhail. He felt so stupid. Moving to follow her, Morrigan's voice stopped him cold.

"I wouldn't follow her yet. Believe me; it's better to let her alone a while. Excuses aren't welcome in the moment."

Mikhail grumbled: "I don't think you to be that great as a relationship counselor."

"You're right. But from her reaction I could say the same about you. But: it's your funeral." With a last unnerved "Women" Mikhail stomped away.

_On the street Lothering - Redcliffe, 9:30, Justinian 12th afternoon _

The next hours had been unusual silent. With Iona and Mikhail evading each other and Sten and Natasha hissing and glaring, not even Leliana's charm could break the mood. So it came that all were relieved when shouting erupted from the street ahead, followed by the noises of some people running fast in their direction. Two dwarves came in sight closely followed by some darkspawn. They crushed in an invisible barrier, knocking the first darkspawn down and gaining time for the dwarves to close the gap to Sten, who had token the vantage point because of his mix of strength and ability to read tracks.

Spotting their new enemies, the darkspawn immediately retreated, followed swiftly by Sten and Natasha. "Wait; there are more of them behind the corner." Mikhail cursed silently as Sten and Natasha rushed ahead. The rest of the group cantered along. Rounding the next corner they detected Sten and Natasha in full combat, him yelling battle cries and her singing her chasind songs, against a large group of darkspawn, mostly melees. While Alistair and Mikhail rushed forward to help, Leliana took her bow and tried to occupy a handful of Grenlock archers.

In wild arches Sten swung the chasind greatblade he got from Mikhail and cut down any darkspawn dumb enough to get near him. On the other side Natasha slashed and pierced with her staff, knocking down her enemies with waves of force. They were such a terrible pair to behold that Alistair nearly stopped. A last archer went down gurgling with Leliana's arrow in his throat and suddenly the fight was over, Sten panting, Natasha wildly grinning, both covered in blood of their enemies and their own.

"So you really can fight, little one. Not only peasants. But you should eat more and do your exercises. The days in the cage softened you a bit as it seemed."

Sten replied coldly: "You're correct with both. I'll train to bestow you honor in our coming battle."

Natasha grinned: "I'll train too. It shall be a great battle."

Alistair went on, shaking his head in confusion. "Crazy. I'm surrounded by nuts."


	11. Chapter 11 Stories and Songs

**Stories and Songs**

_Camp along the street Lothering - Redcliffe, 9:30, Justinian 12th evening _

"Bodahn Feddic, at your service. And this is my son Sandal. Say hello Sandal."

"Hello." The expression of the younger dwarf was so childish, a bit frightened, a bit curious, Leliana nearly laughed. She liked Sandal from the start and from the faces of her companions she could detect, that all did. Even Morrigan missed more than one chance to be sharp-tongued.

The two dwarves had attached themselves to the group after the rescue from the darkspawns. Bodahn was a trader, born in Ozrammar but now living on the surface. He evaded the theme why he had left his home, but was able to give some information about the dwarven kingdom. "It's on the brink of civilian war. The old king died and the two candidates are bickering about the succession. They seem to be equals in political power and retainers, so it won't be easy to resolve the matter."

Alistair and Mikhail had already decided to go to Redcliffe first and this news confirmed it. It would be better to go to Ozrammar later, when hopefully the strife was settled.

"Before we reach Redcliffe I think I should tell you something, all of you. I fear it will come up there and you shouldn't be surprised then." Alistair shifted nervously, searching for words to go on.

"Let me guess: you're wanted for chicken thieving." Natasha smiled friendly. Morrigan added "No, he had been the court jester and is on the run." Iona sighed: "Please shut up. Don't you see? It's important for him and unsettling. "

Under Morrigan's frown and Leliana's smile Iona went to Alistair, linked arms with him and smiled reassuring: "Go on, Alistair. What's in Redcliffe? "

Alistair smiled back shyly. After a few moments he spoke on: "I told you, that I've been raised first in Redcliffe and then taken to the chantry. That I'm a bastard and Arl Eamon was so kind to care about my welfare, even when I was young and not able to appreciate what he had done. The reason for his doing was … that … err … I am …"

"Spit it out, dumb. It can't be so hard." Morrigan ignored the killing glances of Iona and Leliana.

"Ok. You're right. It's only I never speak about it. I don't like to make a fuss about. Most people react weird, treat me not like Alistair but … otherwise. Degrade me or shield me, at any rate behave not as before … "

Mikhail interjected calmly: "You're the bastard son of Maric. "

All were stunned, especially Alistair: "You knew? How … why …"

The young Cousland shrugged: "It's obvious, isn't it? What else should be so frightening? Why should Eamon care for your uprising? And by the way: You clearly have family resemblance to Cailan, to praise the maker only in face and figure, not in intellect. We surely don't need another king of his liking."

"So you're not only a bastard but a royal bastard, yes?" Morrigan smirked. "Have I now to address you as 'Your Highness'? Or should I say 'Prince Alistair'? Shall we bow now and then?"

Alistair grimaced as if hurt. "Please nothing of it." Iona shied away from him, regret in her face. Under a puzzled look from Mikhail she walked to Leliana and ignored the further conversation. The young ex-Templar followed her with his eyes, his face showing an expression as if he was a kicked puppy.

"No, Morrigan, nothing of it as long as I'm around", Natasha interjected. "But perhaps you could be his court jester. And I'll try as court astrologer. I don't understand anything about astrology, but surely I can learn to create dooming looks and say something mystical in an ominous voice." Natasha stood up, contorted her body a bit to the stance of an old gnarled woman, gave a fateful glance and proclaimed with deep voice: "Hear me young princeling. I see great trouble coming your way. There will be fights, there will be blood. And someone will surely die. The stars told it to me, believe me. "

Even Alistair had to laugh about this hilarious presentation. The mood enlightened and with stories about lost princes, beautiful maidens and glorious battles the evening went on.


	12. Chapter 12 Grow up little Prince

**Nightly Horrors**

_Street near Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 17th midmorning _

_Lake Calenhad_ Natasha sighed at the view of this marvelous lake. The last time she had been here seemed so long ago. Stroud had been with her and Wynne; annoying, unnerving, self-complacent Wynne, balanced, helpful, witty, intelligent, cultured Wynne.

Natasha clenched her fists, tears dropping from her eyes. How much would she give to hear her irritating voice once again, ridiculing Natasha for any perceived wrong-doings? In Ostagar she'd evaded the elder mage. And now she was dead, her corpse lying anywhere on the battle-field.

"There it is, Redcliffe and over there Redcliffe Castle. Isn't it picturesque?" With a mix of boyish happiness and fearful reluctance Alistair strode on.

"Yes, yes, so nice. I stand in awe." Morrigan really couldn't understand this enthusiasm about a village, cramped with people, surely smelling disgusting. The last days on the road had been more to her liking. Even Leliana's chattering was more tolerable. Since meeting with the dwarves the young Sandal – himself not saying 10 words a day – clinched wide-eyed to her mouth and listened to her stories about … whatever.

The last days had been peaceful, Sten and Alistair holding watch, Iona enjoying the possibility to ride on Bodahn's carriage. Natasha had been silent and unusual even-tempered, her current tears astonishing Morrigan only the more. She liked the circle mage despite her being grown up in the circle tower and her childish believe in the maker.

Morrigan pondered. No, that was incorrect: Natasha didn't believe in the maker, at least not in the way others did, as Leliana for example. She didn't expect the maker to shield her from dangers, to ward any evil or be the reason of any good events. And surely Natasha didn't believe in the righteousness of the chantry. But she believed strongly in the example of Andraste's live and her teachings. She had tried to explain this to Morrigan, disregarding her scowl. But at last she had given up for some time at least.

She liked Natasha's wit, her sharp tongue, her unbridled temper. She had a strong will and brave heart. Natasha was always straight, never lying, never saying niceties by courtesy. And from the beginning, their first meeting, she requested Morrigan to always speak her honest opinion. Friendship, sincere and genuine friendship, this was what Natasha had offered her in these days. How could she, knowing Morrigan only for a few days?

That she began to reciprocate the feeling more than a little unsettled the witch. However much she tried to shove these thoughts aside, she knew in her guts that she trusted Natasha, trusted her more than any other in the group, more than anybody since … yes, since Tamara. Was it coincidence or a bad joke of Andraste? That the two women she liked and trusted the most were cousins?

Morrigan crunched her teeth, thinking about Lothering again. The meeting with Tamara and Bethany brought it all up again. _Yes, Bethany_. She knew her, even if Morrigan wished she would not. One bad memory, one of the very few deeds she regretted. Someday she had to speak with Natasha about it.

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 18th noon _

"Tomas please go ahead and announce us to Bann Teagan. We will follow swiftly." Tomas, the young villager who had been standing watch at the village's entrance and told the group about the nightly problems in Redcliffe, nodded to Natasha's request and rushed forward to the chantry.

The group gathered with surprise around the mage, waiting for an explanation. Natasha stared at Alistair, long and intensive enough to unsettle him. "Alistair, it's time for you to take the lead."

The young Templar looked puzzled, not understanding what Natasha meant. "This is your village, your home, your people. None of us know the surroundings or care for the people here as you do. We await your commands."

Pressing a grin Alistair responded: "Ah, yes. Sure, I can hint here and then. But … but Mikhail is way better a leader."

Natasha simply agreed: "Yes, he is and what? He was raised to command, to make decisions. And surely in the beginning he was awful, his soldiers laughing behind his back. But he tried and learned. Now he is a leader we all trust. You have that to learn too, more sooner than later there will be the question about your status, in the army, at the court. You may wish to forget your heritage as much as you want, but others won't forget. You better start to behave like Maric's son. Go on, speak with Bann Teagan. Decide if you want us to help or not. And what we have to do."

Alistair nervously looked around. "But if I make wrong decisions … you'll help me, Mikhail, yes?"

Before the Cousland could answer, Natasha rejected the plea: "No. These will be your decisions, your results, and your conscience. If someone gets hurt, it will be your fault, if someone dies, it will be your burden. Tremble in fear if you must, vomit afterwards in the bushes, but decide. Mikhail will not always be there to catch you. I know, I throw you into ice cold water, but you have to try and learn and when better than with us around? See the positive side: finally you're allowed to command Morrigan and me around. Yes, I think I even would don a dress for you."

Alistair gave a weak smile to this insider joke, remembering him to the last time he spoke with Duncan. Morrigan snarled, but kept silent otherwise, while Mikhail gave his consent. "Natasha is right. It is your home, your task to help. We'll do what you think to be the best."

Alistair swallowed and tried to make firm steps toward the chantry's door …

_Comment:_

_The relation between Morrigan and Bethany will be explained later. It is a connection to the sequel Parting Ways._


	13. Chapter 13 Turn Despair to Hope

_I never liked the idea of hardening Alistair with a single conversation after meeting Goldanna. It should be a longer process and why not start in defending Redcliffe. About the flower (end of this chapter): I would have chosen another time, but my wife insisted this moment to be sweet for such a present. I hope she is right. _

**Turning Despair to Hope**

_Redcliffe Village, 9:30, Justinian 18th noon _

While Mikhail, Alistair and Natasha went into the chantry to speak with Bann Teagan, the rest of the group waited outside, observing the events on the market place. Under the watchful eyes of their Mayor Murdock a handful of villagers were preparing barricades. At the side of the place a few archers tried to improve their bow skills. The sight was disheartening. The same blanket of despair they had seen in Lothering choked the villagers; the movements were slow and hopeless. Without Murdock the villagers would simply sink to the floor and await their death.

Tomas left the chantry, hurried to Murdock and after a few words ran back to his post at the village entrance. Some minutes later Alistair, Mikhail and Natasha followed.

"We'll help. The village is under attack from undead or something similar at night. Many people already died and Bann Teagan fears the next battle to be the hardest. These undead seem to come from the castle. No one reacts on calls at the castle gates since days. We have to fear that all are dead therein."

Alistair sighed, clearly very disturbed at the idea of Arl Eamon being dead. "There are two spots where attacks can happen. Up to the windmill where the bridge connects village and castle and from the water. The other sides are protected thru the cliffs."

"First we have to see how we can help with the preparations. Tonight we will separate in two groups. The bigger one will be at the bridge. I await there to be the main attack. Mikhail, Leliana and I will be at the bridge. And Morrigan too, we'll need your healing spells for sure. Natasha, you and Sten stay at the village in case there will be a second attack. We'll assign two of the younger militia men to be messengers. Iona, you'll help the chantry sisters with the wounded." 

Mikhail allowed himself a hidden smile. It had been a fine idea of Natasha to order Aliastair's lead in the defense. His military training sprang in and made it easy for him to make decisions. "Natasha, I think you should train a bit your diplomacy skills when the opportunity arises. Jetta informing about the death of her husband could have be a little more sympathetic and how you responded to Bann Teagan … tststs."

Natasha answered with a frown. She had found the remains of Jetta's husband in the Korcari Wilds along with a letter for her. "Yeah, better pity her for her poor husband dying in the wilds following his stupid idea in converting the Chasind instead of remaining with his family. What now? Whom would it help her hiding in some corner moaning her fate? But now she hates me but is back to work tending the wounded. That's a clear improvement. And for Bann Teagan … I really have not time for exchanging niceties with a nobleman, there are way more pressing tasks to be done. Perhaps Iona has time to spare; anyway she has more practice in such things."

Seeing the hurt in Iona's face it took only seconds for Natasha to cool off. Gripping her by the shoulders Natasha softly but steadily turned her around. "Sorry, Iona, really, I'm sorry. That was a very stupid remark from me. You have done so well the last days. I think no one told you this. Often rage clouds my mind and it's often easier for me to lead other people thru harsh words. But be sure I honor your inner strength, will and braveness. And perhaps you can throw a slap her and then when I …"

A very meager slap from Iona interrupted Natasha, followed by a smile. "Yes, Iona, and next time we work on the strength of it." Noticing the very puzzled looks of her companions Natasha's smile changed to a snarl. "Do you have nothing to do? I think our leader said something about preparations to help with? Go on, lazybones." 

Smiling Alistair divided the group. Leliana would practice with the archers, Sten help with the barricades, Alistair speak with the Mayor, and Mikhail assists Ser Perth, a Redcliffe knight standing watch at the bridge. "Iona, please help in the chantry. And Natasha … I think you promised this girl to search for her brother. We all meet here one hour before sundown."

_Redcliffe Village, 9:30, Justinian 18th one hour before sundown _

The companions waited outside the chantry. They felt satisfied with the events of the afternoon. Alistair had been able to persuade the village blacksmith – drunk and whining about his daughter missing in the castle – to go back to work. With Sten's help the barricade had been much improved. Mikhail prepared some traps and burning oil at the bridge. Morrigan shoved the dwarven trader and veteran fighter Dwyn out of his house, her sharp tongue bolstering with remarks about her ability to change him into a frog and how she liked fried frog legs.

Lout yelling and laughter made them aware of an interesting group, descending from the village inn. A red-haired, beautiful woman led a shackled elf, followed by a grinning Natasha and a large, fat man with sagging shoulders, a short sword in his belt. "Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd." The men cheered. The sight of their cowardly innkeeper joining the militia seemed to be the biggest morale boost of all. Lloyd himself was more than a little surprised about the cheering, the back-slapping and comradeship of his fellow villagers.

The red-haired beauty exchanged a few words with Natasha, only the name Tomas understandable, before entering the chantry, leaving the mage with the shackled elf outside.

"Alistair? This is Berwick. He had been paid from one of Loghain's men to watch the castle and report anything unusual." She showed Alistair a letter she found at Berwick. "He seems to know nothing about the undead attacks."

Alistair read the letter in silence. "Loghain anew. Perhaps he has something to do with Arl Eamon's disease. Berwick, you have clearly chosen the wrong side. But now you're trapped with us in this village awaiting attack. If you agree in helping defend the village, I swear to let you go afterwards."

Berwick agreed and after some parting words all went to their respective posts.

_Redcliffe Village, 9:30, Justinian 18th night _

An endless seeming stream of undead attacked from the bridge. Alistair detected more than one known face. Soldiers, servants, even some prisoners as he assumed from their clothes. Together with Mikhail he helped Ser Perth and his knights to form a solid line of defense, protecting Leliana and a few archers, Morrigan standing on a large crate, hurling spells at the advancing undead.

His arms ached, his feet dreading to fumble in the pools of blood on the ground, some of it his own. With a groan the knight at his side went down, an axe buried in his shoulder. Mikhail crushed the undead's skull but too late to save his comrade. The fight went relatively good, the knights holding their ground. But Mikhail feared what was going on in the village. Since a few minutes there were battle noises to be heard, especially Sten's cries and lightning clashes.

"Mikhail, stay here with the knights. Leliana, Morrigan, come with me to the village." Alistair awaited Mikhail's nodding then hurried down the slopes to the village. Halfway down he found the corpse of the young militia messenger, a spear in his back. The view of the village place was frightening. More than one militia lay on the ground, Lloyd's corpse being discernible from afar. Murdock leaned at the wall near the chantry entrance. Only Sten averted a rout. Firm as a rock he held the center against all attacks, crackling with Natasha's magic, Dwyn and Tomas shielding his flanks. A loud flash hurled two of the undead back, smashed one against the spikes of a barricade, but left Natasha staggering, a clear sign of her tiredness.

Alistair rushed into the undead, shoving with his shield, hacking with his sword, while Leliana and Morrigan picked stragglers at the edge with arrow and spell. The remaining militia men attacked with new hope and after minutes seeming like hours the battle was over, leaving no one standing else Sten, even he panting direly.

With weak steps Tomas walked to Natasha. "Milady, I … I own you my life. Without your magic that foul creature would have killed me. Thank you so much."

Natasha gave a faint smile." I promised someone to see you sure thru the night. Perhaps you'll find some other one to thank, someone with red hairs." Her smile increasing with Tomas understanding her words, she continued: "You're a brave man, Tomas. Feeling fear and overcoming it is more worth than fighting without fear from the beginning. Perhaps it's time to be stalwart in other affairs. She is in the chantry I think."

Looking after Tomas she heard Sten's remark: "you could have saved others too, Lloyd as an example, instead of shielding me." Natasha nodded. "Yes, perhaps. Not many but one or the other. I had to make my own decisions. And you are more valuable. Valuable to Mikhail I mean, don't assume otherwise." Without any emotion Sten replied:" I never would."

With closed eyes Alistair sat on a case, leaning against the chantry's wall. He felt so tired. "Are you alright?" Iona's sweet voice woke him from his slumber. Alistair forced a smile. "Yes, all is good, now at least. I had luck, no more than a few bruises." He followed Iona's gaze to Leliana. The young woman helped the chantry sisters with the wounded, being one of the few fighters without wounds. She was a wonderful sight, smiling to the wounded, giving hope in spite of her own tiredness. "Leliana is such a good woman, don't you agree?" Alistair could only nod. "But I think she could use some niceties on her own, giving away so much of her love to others."

Alistair looked confused as Iona took his plate gloves off and pressed some beautiful flowers in his hands, white and red, smelling sweat. "Don't you remember? These flowers are called Andraste's grace. Leliana mentioned them to be one of her few memories about her mother. I found them this afternoon and wanted to give them to her. But … wouldn't it be much nicer for her to receive them from you? Flowers should be a gift from a man, I think."

"I … I … yes. But … I can't bestow her flowers. I mean now in the night and all." Iona smiled. "You can. I would love something like this at this dark hour. She will be fond of it too." She nearly had to shove Alistair in Leliana's direction and smiled sweetly as she watched the whispering conversation between surprised Leliana and cute blushing Alistair, only the night veiling the deep red as Leliana gave him a kiss on the cheek.


	14. Chapter 14 Mother and Son

**Mother and Son**

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 19th Morning_

"That was very generous of you, Natasha." Leliana gave her comrade a gentle hug, which was returned with a frown.

"It has been the last of the money I got from these robbers back at Lothering. I hope it will do some good to Kaitlyn and her brother."

Leliana nodded: "Sure it will. The Revered Mother promised to take a look and make sure Kaitlyn has a well-known trader take her to Denerim. With her family there and some money to start, it will be better than here by all means."

They had left Iona and Warrick back at the chantry and climbed up the slope to the windmill. Bann Teagan awaited them there, behind him the remains of the barricades, some of the villagers working to drag the corpses of the nightly attackers together and burn them. Beside him stood a single soldier with the crest of Redcliffe, the face unknown to the companions.

"Hello, my friends. I dearly would hope to give you some rest after this battle, but we must use this break to solve the problems in the castle. This man is one of my brother's house-guard. He brought me a letter from my sister-in-law." He gave the letter to Alistair, the other companions studying the soldier. His uniform was cut in some places and seemed to be worn since a week or so. He stood unnaturally still, watching Bann Teagan all the time.

Alistair let the letter sink. "She asks you to enter the castle and alone as it is, to help her save her son Connor. This is ridiculous. You can't consider this in earnest. We have to go together. No one knows which dangers await you in the castle. "

Bann Teagan showed a face full of desperation. "I know. It's insane, but I have to. I can't ignore her plea. If there is any hope to save my brother or his son, I have to go. And she made it clear that no other than I alone may pass the gates. But I have a plan. In this windmill is the entrance of a hidden path to the cellars of the castle. While I show up at the gates, you'll enter there. Ser Perth and his knights will be waiting near the gates and help …"

Alistair interrupted. "No, Ser Perth will wait here in the village. We can't leave it without protection. We six must be sufficient to battle what waits in the castle. I don't like your plan. But I know that I can't persuade you. Hopefully we won't regret it."

Opening the entrance they climbed down in the narrow, low tunnel, water dripping at some spots.

"I hate tunnels. I'm not a dwarf or some kind of badger." Morrigan grumbled, causing mild laughter from the others. On and on they went, nearly thinking this tunnel to go nowhere, but finding another stair at last. Alistair felt released, took some deep breaths and look around where they had landed. "The prison I think. If we take this way we will …"

"Jowan," a voice hissed full of spite. Alistair had problems to detect it was Natasha's. Following her stare he saw a cell with a prisoner therein, a mage as it seemed. The mage stared back in a mix of fear and hope.

"Jowan, at last I see you again. The maker is with me, giving me a chance to set something right." The voice was full of rage, sending showers over even Morrigan's spine. "Please, Natasha, let me explain …"

"No, Jowan, there is nothing to explain, only to die. You're a blood mage on the run, Greagoir sentenced you to death. And what you had done to Lily …" her voice trembled.

Leliana tried to intervene. "Natasha, please, you can't kill him cold blooded. You must give him a chance …"

Natasha shoved her aside. "I must do nothing." She hissed, her carotid artery pulsing heavily. "And I'm surely not cold blooded. Not as he was back at the tower where he sacrificed my friendship and Lily's love to escape. You'll die, Jowan, slowly, painfully." She lashed out with her magic, breaking the cells door out of its hinges with ease, sending it against Jowan and pinning him to the wall. "Your blood magic won't save you today. I'll break every bone in your body … Sten go aside."

With a few long strides Sten positioned himself between Natasha and Jowan. He calmly shook his head. "Sten, aside, I don't want to hurt you … yet. But this man has to die."

Leliana tried anew to calm Natasha down, desperately overhearing the painful moans of Jowan, cursing that Iona wasn't here, the elf having proven to be able to calm Natasha down. "Natasha, I don't know what happened at the tower. But you have been given a new chance with the wardens. Doesn't he deserve a chance too?"

Only calming a nuance down Natasha replied. "You know nothing. I was given a new chance, yes. But I didn't want it. As Stroud asked me to join the wardens I refused. I begged Greagoir to judge me. It would have been a death sentence and it would have been the right thing to do. But he refused."

Shock showing on all faces except Sten's they watched Natasha as she slowly circumvented Sten and looked again in Jowan's eyes. "I begged him, refused Irving excuses of my deeds. Surely I didn't know. Surely I did it out of friendship. But I helped a blood mage, A BLOOD MAGE." The last words were cried out in a bloodcurdling mix of pain, anger and despair, slowly transforming in a shoulder-shuddering sob. "I had to die. But Greagoir didn't allow it. He extorted my concession, my becoming a grey warden in exchange for Lily's life. Yes, Jowan, she lives. And surely not thanks of you."

Loud clatter accompanied the cell door falling to the ground, Jowan following a second later. Natasha went to the next room, giving Morrigan a sign to let her alone as the witch moved to follow her. So it was left to Alistair and Mikhail to interrogate Jowan.

"Connor is a mage. Isolde knew it. She accepted an apostate as a trainer to hide his talent. He poisoned Arl Eamon. Loghain sent him for this. Jowan isn't the culprit for the undead attacks." The voices whirled around. Slowly the puzzle parts felt in the right places, but much stayed unexplained. Alistair decided Jowan to be put in another cell, but left alive.

_Lothering, 9:30, Justinian 19th noon_

The fight had been hard, more so because they tried not to kill Bann Teagan. After crawling thru the castle, killing the remaining undead – with finding Velana, the daughter of the smith to be a single ray of hope – at last they reached the main hall. Connor had been waiting there with the last guardsmen, his very frightened and despaired mother and Bann Teagan, magical controlled and converted in some type of a jester. Without Natasha's magic they would have been forced to kill Teagan, as he and the soldiers attacked the group on Connor's command. Now he was back to his senses, Connor going into some kind of torpor.

"Please, Alistair. Help him. It wasn't really him. It was a demon this mage called that forced him to do these terrible things. Please, don't hurt Connor." Isolde pledged for her son's life, always pressing the issue of Jowan's debt.

Alistair felt so sorry for her. He never liked Isolde much after her treating him as a more than unwelcome sight in Castle Redcliffe, but she was a mother wanting to protect her child, one of the most natural emotions. "I … I don't know a solution, Isolde. I really hoped I had an idea other than killing him."

"Perhaps I can help." Mikhail led the shackled Jowan in the hall, releasing him from his cell on Teagan's command. "As it seems Connor made a bargain with a demon, the demon's help in saving Eamon for Connor's allowance to let the demon in his body. But you must understand that the demon is not materially in Connor's body. Instead he controls him thru a bond, a type of magical thread between body and fade. But as the demon uses this bond to control Connor, so we can use it to enter the fade and beat the demon."

A flare of hope showed in Isolde's eyes. "You mean, you can enter the fade and kill that demon without hurting my Connor?" Jowan shook his head. "I have to open the way and hold it open. Another mage has to enter the fade. Normally it would need a circle of magi and much Lyrium to accomplish this, but I have blood magic at my disposal. I can use the Life of someone to fuel the magic. But … this someone would certainly die. "

Isolde responded very silently. "So one has to die to save my son? Then it will be me."

A wild discussion erupted, all voices a wild mess. Lastly Natasha shouted them all down. "I will never allow this to happen. Neither Morrigan nor I will trust Jowan to hold this fade portal open and surely I will not allow Isolde to sacrifice herself. She has done much to redeem and I understand she wants to do all in her might to save Connor, but never this way."

Taking a few moments to collect her, Natasha spoke on: "I will open the portal. Morrigan will go thru and battle this demon. Jowan will have no part in this." Alistair shook his head. "I thought only a circle of magi could do this without blood magic."

Before Natasha had a chance to answer, Morrigan interrupted. "She could. Her grasp of force magic would allow it, I think. But …" Natasha nodding changed to a growl … "I know the dangers for her. I won't go; I can't allow this, Natasha. We need you. Connor, Isolde, Teagan, Jowan, they all mean nothing to me. We all are disposable. Only you wardens we need, even this dumbass Alistair. Find another way to solve the problem or I'll try it with Jowan."

"What, what does Morrigan mean?" Alistair tried to grasp the word's meaning. Natasha and Morrigan didn't answer, staring each other silently. Suddenly Natasha whirled around, hands up to release a single powerful spell against Jowan. But this time Sten was faster. With a loud crack his plated fist connected to Natasha's neck, sending her into unconsciousness instantly.

"Thank … thank you." Jowan trembled, knowing the spell would have killed him.

Sten coldly replied: "I did it for her, not for you. She would regret it later to have killed such a nothing as you."

"Could anyone explain me what happened?" Alistair asked desperately.

Mikhail guessed: "I think Natasha could open the portal. She is very strong indeed. But from Morrigan's words I assume she would … exhaust her very much with it."

Morrigan agreed. "She would be powerless for days or weeks at least. But more likely she would die from the exhaustion. Natasha has a very special way of fueling her magic. It is closely connected to her emotions. Her constant volcano temperament is not coincidence. This is also the reason for her being so weak after fights where she is pressed to use much magic."

"I'm sure she wouldn't like you to know it, but you have to. Forcing her to use too much magic in short time is endangering her life. And you all knew her well enough that she will not hesitate a second to save one of you with disregard of herself. I for myself don't want her to throw away her life."

Morrigan made sure her face not to show what she thought in addition. _At least not for this. Later perhaps._ Feeling a strange guilt in her heart, Morrigan tried hard to forget that perhaps one day she would be forced to do exactly that to Natasha.

Alistair sighed deeply. "Alright, so no blood magic ritual and no Natasha playing the hero. Any other ideas …"


	15. Chapter 15 Those we Trust

**Those we Trust**

_Tower of the Circle of magi, 9:30, Justinian 19th Morning_

Greagoir shoved his breakfast away. He knew he had to eat, but in the last days his will began to crumble. _How could this all happen_? Has it really been only one month before that all was good? And now his world laid in shatters.

A week before Senior Mage Uldred came back from the lost battle of Ostagar. As far as Irving told him, Uldred tried to persuade the mages to support Loghain, in exchange for more freedoms. Irving … Greagoir had known him so long, he had problems to remember times with them both not protecting the mages. It has been a friendship with clashes, but a deep and loyal friendship nonetheless. And now he was dead. At least that was what Greagoir feared. No one knew it for sure, at least no one out of the sealed door.

Some days later Wynne followed, bringing the news of Loghain's treason. Greagoir nearly couldn't believe it. Loghain, hero of Ferelden, a traitor? But … Wynne said it to be true without doubt and she was one of only three living mages he really trusted. Irving, Wynne and … the Templar Commander shoved the image of the young mage away. The problems at hand were too serious. He didn't know what happened in the tower, could only watch in horror as the first demons and abominations showed down in the apprentice quarters, killing Templars and Mages alike. His force what not strong enough, never thought to battle more than a few demons at a time. Greagoir had no choice: he closed the doors, sealed them, and sentenced all still living mages in the tower to a grizzly death.

Now he waited, waited for the answer to his request for the right of annulment or a miracle.

_Lake Calenhad, 9:30, Justinian 19th Afternoon_

The ground swayed, her head throbbed, her neck felt like broken. Natasha awoke and her mood was worse than usual. She felt wood in her back, saw a clear blue sky above, sensed the smell of water in the air. She was on a ship? Natasha sat up, more than a bit upset by seeing her hands bound with a thin rope.

"Hello Natasha. Are you all right?" Iona's voice this time did little to calm her.

The mage ignored her, moved to stand up awkwardly, shoving Iona's helping hands away. The rest of the group watched her from the ship's deck, the crew being out of the way. Natasha smiled. The ones who certainly had nothing to fear from her kept distance.

"Hi Natasha, it is good to see you awake. We … err … we left Redcliffe two hours ago. Bann Teagan lent us this ship for a journey to the Magi Tower." Alistair seemed more than a bit nervous. Morrigan watched the conversation, her smile showing that she anticipated some fun. Natasha had no desire to disappoint her. She turned around to face the target of her anger. Sten stood there leaned against the railing, showing no emotions beside a mild interest. Natasha looked again to her bound hand. Did they really think …

"If you assure to stay calm and listen to our explanation, I'll free your hands." Mikhail promised.

Natasha only hissed. She made a gesture as if boxing Sten with her bound hand, letting magic run thru her arms. An invisible fist hit the Qunari, pushed him over the railing into the Lake. "No need." While Alistair run to throw Sten a rope, binding the other end to the ship, Natasha focused her will. Her hands began to glow and with a snap she tore the rope as if the magic loaned her Sten's strength. Iona got in the way of Natasha's flailing arms and was thrown against a crate.

For a second Natasha stopped, send a look of regret to the elf. "Sorry, Iona, I didn't want to …"

A motion in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Instinctively Natasha build a force field to protect her, following swiftly with a magical strike so send the attacker – Alistair – away, flying a couple of steps before the mast stopped him.

"Enough. Natasha, really, stop this." Mikhail showed his open hands. "We don't want to hurt you, but calm down. Look what you have done? Sten in the water, Alistair's pride wounded. And Iona …"

Her force field flickered, went down. With a sigh of regret the mage turned to Iona. "I didn't want to hurt you, Iona. You're the only one her who has nothing to do with …" Iona's slap, this time with force, surprised and interrupted Natasha. With blazing eyes she nudged Natasha away. "I have nothing to do with what?" The mage looked so sorry and despaired that Iona instantly regretted her action. "You have nothing to do with their deed in the castle." Iona looked puzzled to Mikhail who could only shrug.

Natasha stood up slowly, watched as Alistair and Mikhail helped Sten to enter the ship. "I will leave you when we reach the tower." Alistair seemed to be shocked, even Mikhail not fully able to hide his surprise." I understand why you did it, but I can't … I can't journey with you. Not when you agree to such methods. Nothing is worth it. Now leave me alone."

Iona gripped her arm. "No. I don't understand. What do you mean? Certainly it had been not very nice from Sten knocking you out, but he had done it with best intentions, to protect you from killing a prisoner. You surely cannot blame him …"

Natasha broke away her arm, looked long at Sten and Iona. "What nonsense. Surely I don't blame him for that. This … forceful behavior is normal for us. He knocks me out; I shove him in the water. Next time it will be other way round." Her smile died away. "Only that there won't be a next time. Didn't your sweetie tell you about what happened? That he allowed a blood mage to sacrifice Lady Isolde to save her son, allowed a death sentenced blood mage to throw his spells around anew?"

Unbelief showed in Iona's face as did comprehension in Mikhail's. "Natasha … Sten please bring him up." Sten nodded, went below deck, returning a few minutes later with a bundle on his arms. Careful he laid it on the ground. It was Connor, sleeping. "Natasha, we didn't. I have to admit that I myself would possibly consider such things. We have to stop the blight at all costs. But you know Alistair and Leliana. Did you really think they would allow me to sacrifice Isolde?"

The mage lowered her to the boy, smelling the odor of some herbs. "But why …"

"Sten only wanted to protect you from doing something you would regret later, not to allow us something you so openly and clearly decline. Jowan is in the Bann's custody. We calmed the boy with some tonic from Morrigan and hope to find help in the tower."

Natasha sat down, back against a crate, hopelessly trying to stop tears. "I feel so stupid."

Iona smiled, embraced the mage, hugging her comfortingly. "You don't have to. But next time please try it with words first. And … trust us as we trust you."


	16. Chapter 16 Let me in

_Lately I realized that Natasha is a bit too central in my story. Originally I intended to make____Natasha and Mikhail____equal important. I hope that later I have success in bringing Mikhail more to the front.___

**Let me in**

_Tower of the Circle of magi – Templar Quarters, 9:30, Justinian 21th Midmorning_

_Why had it to be Carroll standing watch at the Calenhad pier? From Cullen or some other Templar with at least half-a-brain she could get answers to her pressing questions. But no,it had to be Carroll, the one Templar who really confirmed all prejudices against the knights. In comparison to Carroll even Alistair was_ … no, that's unfair.

Natasha broke her string of thoughts. Alistair wasn't dumb; he only had problems to equal the group. With the right upbringing he surely could be a second Mikhail. It was not fair to compare him to her, Leliana or Morrigan. A short smile crossed her face. _The men with the brawn, the women with the brain, this could be a description of their little group_.

Slowly the boat crossed the distance from Calenhad Village to the Tower of Magi. After hearing about some serious problems in the tower Mikhail decided to let Connor in the village, guarded by Morrigan, Sten and Iona. He felt better with her not going to the tower. Whatever happened there, it frightened the Templars enough to prohibit any visitors. He had to use all his charms to persuade Templar Carroll to let him pass, him, Alistair, Leliana and Natasha. She tried to feign casualness, but Mikhail knew her enough to see her concern.

The boat berthed at the pier of the small tower island, one waiting Templar accompanying them indoors with grim faces and dire mood. An older Templar, gray hair but still fit, awaited them. His piercing glance lingered on Natasha before he addressed Mikhail:

"So the grey wardens again, once again looking for mages to fight the blight?" His voice exposed his mood in spite of the irony in his words. "I fear you are too late. We barred the doors." Greagoir sighed. "Excuse me. The last days have been very hard for all of us. I know of Ostagar and I guess the reason of your coming. But we have very serious problems. I don't know what happened in the tower but it is clear there to be demons on the loose, many demons, more than my Templars can handle. More than half of them died before we closed the doors. And some of the mages turned into abominations. Something terrible happened. I had no other possibility. I requested the right of annulment from Denerim and await the answer. With all the problems in Ferelden it could be awhile before the answer is here."

Mikhail gave Greagoir time to explain what happened in the last days, the arrival of Uldred and Wynne, the discussion about Loghain, the sighting of the first demon." I understand. That really is dire news. But we need help from the mages, not only fighting the blight but also to save Arl Eamon and his son. I'll explain later. Without the mages … What can we do? You said many of your Templars are dead. Perhaps some live still in the tower. And the mages, not all could have been killed. If you allow, we will try to save any living Templar and mage therein. And kill all abominations and demons, naturally."

First Greagoir didn't want to allow it. He made it clear how dangerous such a try would be, that he could not allow any mage or Templar to leave without strong evidence that the problem was solved. But at last he gave in. "Natasha? I don't know if there are any survivors. Be strong as I fear you will see more than one of your former friends dead or turned into … something. And … Cullen, he is in the tower, he was one of the guards at the last mage meeting."

Natasha could only nod, all emotions dead. Wynne, she survived Ostagar. Only to be … what? Killed, transformed, controlled? And Cullen … Natasha feared what she would see in the tower. The first time in her life she was really frightened. Nearly she bade Mikhail to go without her. But she couldn't abandon her friends, whatever she felt. She had promised Cullen to watch him.

Her thoughts trailed off. Morrigan had a short conversation with her before entering the boat. A favor she asked. At that time it seemed impossible to fulfill, but now with the tower in this state it could really be done. The laugh of Natasha didn't want to leave her throat, being more a croak of despair. Natasha noticed the surprisingly concerned look in Greagoir's face. What would he think if he knew that she planned to steal a book of perhaps unholy magic from the tower to give it to a searched for apostate, she mused.

"Let's go". Mikhail lead the group into the tower, the doors barred behind them anew, leaving Greagoir alone with his thoughts about Natasha.

_Tower of the Circle of magi – near the meeting hall, 9:30, Justinian 21th Midmorning_

"Cullen? Cullen, my love. Why don't you look at me? Am I so ugly?" Draughts swirled around the Templar, bringing the scent of women to his senses. He knew this voice, knew the appearance. Natasha. It was her voice, her body the demon resembled to fight his will. She was scarcely clad, drawing her naked leg thru his vision. Cullen lashed out, hit her leg and caused a low moan of pain and pleasure.

"Oh, you like it the hard way, you dirty little boy?" Her fingers caressed his chin, his neck, sending showers down his spine. His body reacted to her, his will not able to avert it, even knowing that it was not really Natasha.

Natasha. Cullen tried to remember. How he met her. Or more precisely: how he really learned to know her. He had been one of the Templars to free her from those blood mage, the only one to survive and only thanks to her struggling. She saved him as he had saved her. Both had been frightened to death thru the experience, shaken to the core. And then she kissed him. It was a kiss of gratitude but never after could he see her in the same light. The way as he – a Templar – should see her – a mage: a human to be protected and a danger to be constrained.

Less than two months ago Natasha left the tower to become a grey warden. Cullen went to Greagoir the next day, unveiled himself. How he cared for Natasha after their return, visited her, spoke about her faith in Andraste and Lily. The young initiate had been a strong sustainer in her recovery, being not so strict as other clerics, but with a great heart and will to help. Together they had been able to bring Natasha back to live, to joy.

The oath. It was not unknown among mages and Templars for such a thing, but uncommon that a mage would share it with a Templar. They vowed to protect each other, to watch him and to save his soul if it was ever endangered by foul magic. Greagoir had commanded him to be Natasha's warden at the harrowing. It had been redundant. Even without the order he would have been there. Without order he would have cut her down in the case of failure. He vowed it. He would not allow her to live as an abomination. And she would do the same.

But now he was here, alone with the demons Uldred called, alone in a magical prison, unable to fight or flee, unable to evade the arousing voice and gestures of this demon. Natasha never would have behaved so. She knew his desires, his weak body barely controlled from his mind. And she always made secure that he didn't overstep this line. No more than a kiss, a gentle touch.

"You are more than a brother to me, but you can never be my lover. Your faith is what encompasses your soul. If I'd seduce you, we would regret it our lifetime, you for breaking your vows, me for crushing what you are." Cullen saw her face again in his memories, sensed the last kiss. She would come, save him. He only had to hold out. The Templar went to his knee, clenched fists to his face.

_Dear Andraste, be with me in my direst hour. Give me hope …_

_Tower of the Circle of magi – apprentice chambers, 9:30, Justinian 21th Midmorning_

Alistair gulped heavily. The sight was emotional numbing. Corpses laid everywhere, the victims not only killed but crushed, torn apart, burned. Apprentices, servants, a single mage, a few Templars, all united in death. And in between little piles of dust, insignificant looking but he knew them for what they were.

"Demons," Natasha confirmed Alistair's opinion. "Someone killed demons here. These two perhaps the Templars killed, but these … by the signs on the floor I would assume they were killed by mighty elemental magic. More than Arana could wield." She pointed to the single killed mage. "Arana was always nice to us apprentices, helping to prepare for testing and all the little important problems we had. But she never wielded much magic. Only a few mages in the tower could cast so powerful spells." She felt a spark of hope in her heart, instantly pushing it away.

Alistair stopped Natasha. He listened, 'sensed'. Since entering the tower seemingly his Templar training resurfaced. "Foul magic ahead." He whispered coarsely. Quietly they went on, neared the bibliotheca, and heard steps from two or three people, flipping of pages. But it was something other that caused Natasha's heartbeat to stop for a second. Going pale she pointed to a chalk drawing on the floor, showing a man handing a small sparkling staff to a woman-mage.

That couldn't be coincidence. The drawing was simple, but not from a child's hand. Could it be a hint? Could someone hope she would return? And know which place the drawing meant? Natasha trembled a bit. "We must hurry to the tower's storehouse. It's on the second floor." The others looking quizzical Natasha mused. The storehouse was built strong and with protection magic. Could someone tried to use it as a shelter? The spark of hope returned even stronger. "Go on."

Leliana sneaked to the entrance, looked around and made signs where the enemies stood, two mages and three demons. With low voice Mikhail ordered the targets, then pulled his sword and rushed in, followed by Alistair and Natasha, Leliana holding position at the door. Bryan, Brat … she couldn't remember his name, one of the elder apprentices, holding a book in his hands, looking frightened to his attacker. Before he could move Natasha's prison spell constrained him.

A spell was deflected by Alistair's shield, the ex-Templar slashing against a rage demon. Mikhail was hindered by the other two demons, leaving it to Leliana to shower the second mage with arrows. Steps neared from behind the bookcases where a door led to the stair. _Damn it._ They must disable the first group fast. A crushing prison spell encompassed the second mage. Ignoring his cries of pain Natasha stunned Mikhail's enemies with a spell giving him the chance to strike them down. While Alistair killed the last demon, Mikhail and Natasha rushed to a bookcase, hiding them for a second against the new enemies.

A demon, a skeleton followed by three others. Mikhail moved to rush forward, was stopped by Natasha. She coughed, winced, and pointed to the last enemy, barely human, a mass of raw flesh and visible muscles, an abomination. Natasha signaled Mikhail to attack it, she targeting the skeletons. The Warrior nodded, pulled his strength together and leapt forward …


	17. Chapter 17 An old friend

**An old friend**

_Tower of the Circle of magi – second floor, 9:30, Justinian 21th Noon_

"Please, don't kill me. I only want a chance to redeem myself." The blood mage plead, leaning against the cold stone wall, blood dripping from her side where Leliana's arrow struck. After some fights they had finally reached the stairs only to be confronted by a trio of blood mages. Fortunately they had been young ones, not able to wield control of enemies. Two of them laid on the ground, only the woman surviving, but barely. Mikhail had interrogated her, asked about names of other mages involved in the uprising. The woman had been very willing to cooperate all the time begging for mercy.

Mikhail looked around. Natasha's reaction was as expected. "Don't look at me. I surely am not the right person to ask when it comes to show a blood mage mercy. But one thing I want to remark: when we meet these Templars she mentioned to be controlled, how much energy do you want to invest to save them?"

Mikhail frowned heavily. That had been very bad news. Following the blood mage's words there were nearly a dozen Templars in the tower still living but under control of senior blood mages and demons. Neither he nor Alistair knew if it would be possible to catch some of them alive. And if they succeeded, would it be achievable to cleanse them from the foul control?

"I really don't know. We could try to capture some of them with your magic, bind them and bring them to Greagoir later. But I won't endanger any of us to save them." A last time he faced the blood mage. "I'm sorry for you, but it is too dangerous to let you live." He waited for her to make a last prayer, and then killed her with a stab to the heart. Lifeless she collapsed to the ground. Mikhail sighed. "All ready to move on?" Alistair and Leliana only nodded, Natasha rose up with weary movements. Without healing magic she had to use much of her magic to simplify the fights – taking demons out of combat with her prison spells – and shield her companions.

"This way should be …" Natasha rushed as fast as her tired legs allowed it around some corners to a part of the tower with some corpses on the floor but without demons. Mid-sentence she came to a standstill, looking wide-eyed to the entrance of the tower's storehouse. How often had she seen Owain over there, handing her needed ingredients. The last time it had been a wand of fire, she needed to reach Jowan's phylactery. Owain wasn't there, but a field of force closed the entrance.

"That is not normal, I suppose?" Natasha didn't react to Alistair's question. Slowly she went to the door, sensing the field, hearing … low movements, whispers.

"Owain, are you therein? Here is Enchantress Natasha. Owain, please show yourself if you're here." The footsteps of two persons neared. First Petra, a young mage showed herself, her face a mix of fear and anger. "Natasha? What do you want here? Have the Templars send you to kill us?" Natasha started to answer, interrupted by the second person. Wynne gazed at her, very tired herself as it seemed. Only one word escaped Natasha's mouth: "Wynne?" There was so much relief in her voice that even Petra's expression melted.

Slowly Natasha went on as Wynne dispersed the field, standing in front of the older mage, touching her as light as a feather with trembling fingers, as if she couldn't still believe to see her again. Suddenly Wynne reached out with her arms, pulled the younger mage to herself and embraced her as strong as she could.

_Tower of the Circle of magi – storehouse on the second floor, 9:30, Justinian 21th Noon_

Mikhail looked concentrated. "Owain, you said that Niall had been here. And he collected the Litany of Adralla, a scroll to protect from control thru demons and blood mages. Wynne remarked that Niall had been at the meeting of Irving and this damned Uldred, so we can assume that Niall knew exactly what we are against. I fear we have to move on fast, find this Niall and then confront Uldred. Perhaps there are other mages under his control, mages he want to transform into abominations as the one we killed."

Wynne nodded. "I will attend you. Petra will stay here and protect the children." Seeing Natasha's discomfort the old mage added: "You'll need me. Up the tower there will be more and more resistance. Without healing magic you'll never reach Uldred." Natasha nodded uneasily.

As they prepared to leave, Petra whispered to Natasha: "Please look after her. The last days had been very tiring for her. She saved me from a demon and it nearly killed her, she even passed out for a while."

Natasha patted Petra's arm. "I watch her, be sure." Instead of Wynne this time Natasha erected the magical barrier. "You're strong, child. My own barrier …" Natasha interrupted her. "It's my specialty. Yours is healing magic. I feel that my power increased in the last weeks in great steps, but I know only a very narrow range of spells. Your broad repertoire I miss dearly."

Wynne smiled. "I see that not only your power increased. Some weeks before you wouldn't agree to the necessity of learning other spells than force magic." Natasha smiled back. "I had bad company the last weeks. They slowly rub off on me."

Fighting their way thru masses of undead and a smaller number of demons they followed Wynne to the rooms of First Enchanter Irving. It was a mess. Somebody clearly rummaged thru Irving's books and belongings. Natasha's eyes widened. Sending the others to stand watch or look for hints about the events – "perhaps he has a current diary" – Natasha used the chance to browse the books on the ground, shuffle them a bit, piling others to shove them aside, making more mess than order and by the way let a small black book slip in one of her bags. "Nothing interesting, I fear whoever was here found what he searched for."

_Tower of the Circle of magi – fourth floor, 9:30, Justinian 21th Afternoon_

More enemies followed, more fighting. Mikhail had stopped to count the undead and demons. "The fade surely is vacant in the moment with all demons this side." Alistair's joke caused only very slight smiles. The hardest fights had been against two groups of Templars controlled by a blood mage and a desire demon. Both times Natasha imprisoned one of the Templars and both times his comrades freed him. The control seemingly did nothing to prevent them from using their powers. The hope that the Maker would revoke his gifts was futile.

"Have you heard something, Love? No, it was only the wind, darling. I'll go and close the door." The Templar standing still, his mind trapped in blissful dreams, the desire demon walked to the open door where the companion stood, her sensual movements stirring carnal desires from everyone. "You are interrupting a very intimate moment. Please leave us alone." The Templar let out a moan of joy. "Darling, the children want to say you good night."

Giving the ensorcelled Alistair and Mikhail fierce looks Wynne strode forward. "What have you done with him? Playing with his senses? Weaving illusions?" The demon smiled." Yes I did. And look how happy he is. We play together so wonderful. I present him a luck he would never know otherwise and I share his good emotions. They taste wonderful. "

Wynne shook her head in disgust. "That's no real luck. Free him instantly." Opposition came from Leliana's side. "Yes, it is not real. But clearly he enjoys it. Have we the right to take these emotions from him?" Shoving both women aside, Natasha scrambled forward, sent the demon flying backward with her first spell. "That's a pointless discussion. See demon, kill demon, search next demon." Coming back to their senses Mikhail and Alistair joined the fight …

_Tower of the Circle of magi – central hall of fourth floor, 9:30, Justinian 21th Afternoon_

A horrific sight presented itself to the companions as they entered the central room. More than a dozen corpses laid everywhere, a large pile of flesh in the middle. And some of the flesh moved. It took a few moments to realize that this was a creature sitting on the pile, a large demon resembling an abomination. "What do we have here, visitors? How nice. Please excuse me that I have not prepared a feast to your honor. It would make too much work to prepare." The voice was low and slow.

As Natasha pressed forward, the demon raised a hand. "Wait a moment. Why this hurry? You had so much trouble getting here; sure you could use a rest. Make yourself comfortable." Numbness began to spread in their arms and legs. Wynne tried to warn. "Don't give in, stay alert. It is a sloth demon." Her own voice got slower and clumsier with each word. It was too late; the fog intruded their minds, left only lassitude.


	18. Chapter 18 Fading Dreams

**Fading Dreams**

_Fade from the Circle of Magi, 9:30, Justinian 21th Afternoon_

The small creature looked down from the blasphemous mockery of a tree. She loved to be here, in the highest branches, her will causing something resembling low wind to let the tree sway. From this place she was able to look down on the labyrinth her master created, walls, ponds and places. Circles within circles. The labyrinth had shifted to adjust to his newest guests: three outer rings, three inner rings, three doors. Her master always gave his guests a chance, however slim it was. He was old. He was bored. These little games gave him a chance for at least a few feelings. She hoped these guests would fare better than the last …

_Mikhail_

"Wake up, darling. It's really time for breakfast. You can't stay all day in bed." Mikhail's eyes fluttered, finally opened as a gentle finger caressed his chin. Blond hair framing her beautiful face, these eyes filled with love. Slowly he lifted his hand, teased her by tickling her pointy ear.

"Why not? But it would be better with you sharing bed with me." Iona bent down, kissed him passionately on his lips, her tongue entangling his own. Without thoughts his hands embraced his beloved wife, fondled her back, slowly reaching down to her hips. With a sensual smile she lifted the blanket and moved closer, her hand stroking his breast, going down between his legs. Mikhail moaned in pleasure …

With an easy heart Mikhail looked around in their snugly home, but then something odd entered his mind. "Where is your daughter? "Iona looked surprised, pondered a few seconds as if she had to remember whom he spoke of. "She is in Denerim, love. I left her with my family." Taken aback Mikhail stared in disbelief. "You left her in Denerim? Why that?"

Iona's hand went down to his pants, smiling wickedly. "I wanted to be alone with you. Now let us forget her and …" Something was very wrong. Mikhail couldn't say what exactly but … Iona would never set her daughter aside. He inspected her face. Some details looked false. Was it a trick, from Morrigan perhaps? He tried hard to remember where Morrigan was. Connor, yes she was with Connor, the demon-possessed child. Demon, the sloth demon. Brusque he pushed Iona away; send her flying out of the bed. "How dare you? "For a second her voice was a completely other one. Shocked Mikhail stared at 'Iona', shifting to another form. With a cry he jumped up and reached for his sword …

_Interesting_. The small creature looked down on the warrior. He really fast saw thru the illusion. Instead of enjoying the time with his love he wanted to stand aside for her daughter. She followed Mikhail as he left the cottage and went to the inner circle, to the illusion world of …

_Leliana_

A gentle kiss on her cheek woke Leliana. She needed a few moments to remember where she was. The beautiful chant of light filled the cathedral. An elder noble woman shot an angry glance towards Leliana, mumbled something about better morals in her youth. A lithe hand pressed Leliana's.

"You angered her, darling. Don't sleep in the cathedral." The red-haired bard faced her companion, beloved Majorlaine. "It's your fault. The last night was a bit … exhausting." Her mentor and lover smiled back leery. "Do I hear a complaint?" Leliana shook her head: "Never." Her leaning forward and kissing Majorlaine on her sensual lips caused another sigh of disgust from the old lady …

Someone opened the door, strode down the middle hallway, straight to Leliana. "Oh, Mikhail, it's you. May I introduce you to my Mentor Majorlaine? And Majorlaine, this is Mikhail Cousland, Theirn of Highever." Majorlaine had some problems to press a smile and Leliana noticed that Mikhail had a tense expression. "What it is, Mikhail? Don't you like the chant? It is so wonderful here. "

Majorlaine embraced her pupil, hugging her softly. "Yes it is. To listen it gives us ease." Mikhail gripped Leliana, wrested her from Majorlaine's grip. "Ouch, you're hurting me." Mikhail clutched her face with both hands, locking eyes: "That's not real, Leliana. I don't know who this woman should be in your mind, but it's not her. It's a demon wanting to seduce you. Don't you remember: the sloth demon, the Circle Tower? You promised to help me to face the blight." Leliana hold her temples. "Yes, I remember." Majorlaine hissed: "You can't take her with me, she belongs to me now."

The small creature leapt to another branch in joy. She never liked the Majorlaine-Demon since it wrenched a prey from her grip. It got really better from the minute. The warrior and the bard exited the cathedral, taking the way to the first door. It was time to look how the others fared.

_Wynne_

With a deep sadness Wynne looked on the corpse of Petra. To the last breath she had defended the children, but now they were all dead. Wynne abandoned them to follow this awful storm witch, left her children for a woman which never had liked them. Tears running down her face a memory came to her mind as if someone showed her a picture.

Natasha, nineteen years old, nearly broken from her experiences, followed Wynne to the chamber with the youngest apprentices, played with them, reassured them, and gave them hope. "No, she never liked children." A bitter voice rumbled thru her mind. "She forced you to leave them." Another picture pushed the voice aside. Natasha in the storehouse, embracing two of the children, being called Aunt Tasha, only allowing Wynne to follow her after being sure they would be safe.

"No, she … she never …" Wynne furiously shook her head, suppressed this evil voice. No, she has her failures, had made errors, but it would never be out of a lack of compassion for the children. Walking away she thought: "Thank you for remembering me." Wynne felt a warm smile down on her.

She was not alone, that the small creature felt. Something, someone was there, helping this older one. Could it be? Three of the guests escaped the illusions. What if the others …

_Alistair_

The next punch broke his nose. Reeling in agony Alistair could do nothing, his arms held in check by two other boys. All were bruised, the 12-year-old Alistair giving as good as he could. But they had been 5-to-1 and nobody of the spectators seemed willing to interfere. "You Bastard, look what you've done to my shoes. They are dirty now. I think they need a cleaning … from your tongue." He signed his comrades and slowly they pressed Alistair down until his face was near the shoes of his tormentor. "And do it thoroughly, little bastard. I want to see my reflection …"

"What are you doing there? Get away from him." A strange older woman entered the courtyard. Alistair felt her to be vaguely familiar. "Alistair, come to your senses. You're not a boy anymore. You're a full-grown warrior." One of the boys hit Alistair in the stomach with his fist. "No, he is twelve and our toy. Go away."

With tears from the pain in the eyes Alistair looked at the woman. "Remember. You promised to fight the blight. You came to the tower with Natasha and Mikhail and Leliana." Alistair saw their faces, Leliana's name causing an unknown feeling in his loins. "I see, you remember Leliana." Alistair blushed as Wynne smiled not without sympathy. "Now let us go out of here. "

Her master slumbered. The little creature altered the messages she was ordered to feed him with, altered what he heard from the events in the labyrinth. It was a great risk for her. But seeing how the old woman and the young knight approached the second door, she dared to hope that her own time of prison was nearing an end.

_Natasha_

The chains gave her enough freedom to move in the house but not to run. Had they always been there, Natasha mused. A foggy memory of her running around wearing an awful dress revealing most of her not very attractive body, bound by magic and not by chains. The door burst open, three Templars entered. Hope flared up, only to be dimmed again as she saw Cullen entering last. Instead of attacking her captor he ran one of his comrades thru with his sword, beheading the other seconds later. Natasha cried in horror, her voice dying down as Cullen and the blood mage embraced each other as old friends.

"There you are. I awaited you. And see what a wonderful gift I have for you. I know how long you fancied her. It's time to make it real." Cullen answered with a wicked smile, sheathing his sword he neared, gripped the chain to prohibit any escape. "Cullen, what are you doing? " The Templar pulled her nearer, placed one hand around her waist, the other on her ass, squeezing it. "Shut up, bitch. The time of your arrogance is over. Now you belong to me. It's time for you to greet your master properly."

Master, that couldn't be? Sure, she sometimes dreamt of Cullen in her youth, how he would force her with his strong hands to do … things … the older apprentices sometimes giggled about. But Cullen … he never would force her or any other woman. It had always been other way round, her gripping him to get at least a kiss here and then. Cullen pushed the mage down on her knees, trying to open his pants with one hand. "Adore your master, witch, and I will … "

Natasha clenched her chained fists, striking upwards in his groin. As Cullen crouched in pain the mage hit him in the face with her head. "You aren't Cullen. And I'm not a prisoner."

The small creature clapped her hands. Worried she looked to her master, but he was still slumbering, his ears working uneasy. He would awaken soon, but only one doors remained. One prisoner had to be freed, him being the longest to be imprisoned and surely the most difficult one to set free after this long time of imprisonment. It was nearly broken, the mind of …

_Cullen_

It was heart-gripping to see the Templar in his own hell. Cullen had forced his mind in a strong pattern of praying, excluding the false Natasha from his senses. Should I leave him? Should I … fulfill his wishes? He deserves some pleasure, some joy. Natasha tried to examine her feelings. She loved him, true. But … was it the love of the woman to a man or from a sister to a brother? She felt no strong bodily desire. She only had the wish to embrace him, to calm him, and to give him peace.

The thoughts of the small creature raced. Should she … if she took no further actions, it would be possible to live further. Her master would punish her but let her live. On the other side … there won't be excuses if she … the creature trembled. Then she reached out with her mind, touching as a breeze she loaned the young woman some power, power to alter the illusion.

"Is all prepared?" Cullen heard Natasha's voice. She had ended caressing him. "Yes, all is ready." It was Lily's voice. But … hadn't she been send away? Cullen broke his prayer for a moment. Looking up he saw Natasha and Lily staying by the altar. Obscene pictures invaded his mind. Natasha laying naked on the altar, Cullen lowering his pants, Lily urging him to …

"Cullen? Brother Cullen?" A hand gripped his arm, shaking him. Cullen looked to her. Why did Natasha call him brother? She should be his … "You're a brother to me, Cullen. It's only your body, that is natural, nothing to be ashamed. But I feel only the love of a sister for you; I have realized that in the last weeks".

Cullen wept. How could she betray their love? "No Cullen, it never was that kind of love. There is only one real love in you, the love of Andraste. "

Her soft hand lay on his bare breast, feeling his ponding heart. He tried to grip the hand and kiss her fingers, but she resisted.

Natasha took his head in her hands, looking in his eyes with warmth and compassion. "Do you remember, my brother? We wanted to make an oath." Gently she pulled him to the altar where Lily awaited. He remembered … "in the name of Andraste I swear never to falter in protecting you, never allow anything to harm your soul, and to do everything necessary to rescue you from the grip of demons and foul magic if you ever succumb."

The eyes of her master opened as the mage and the Templar reached the third door. Sometimes a single victim resisted his illusions, not often but it had been possible in the past, but never a whole group. How could it happen? The master looked up, searching for the small creature in rage.

The doors opened. His servant had to wait, the punishment suspended. A fight awaited him. Slowly the six victims entered the middle of the labyrinth, encircling him. "Demon, your time is up …"


	19. Chapter 19 A Bloodied Mage

**A Bloodied mage**

_Meeting Hall, Tower of Circle of Magi, 9:30, Justinian 21th Afternoon_

"We don't know what awaits us therein. Until ordered otherwise Natasha, Leliana and Alistair try to kill Uldred as fast as possible. I occupy what demons and undead he has at his command. Wynne, your duty is to help us with your healing magic. Spare your energy for that. And hold this Litany ready. Cullen, you'll stay with Wynne and protect her in case some attacker evades me." All nodded, even Cullen accepting Mikhail's leadership without complaint. Since they rescued him, he had not said a word to Natasha, the two only exchanging pensive looks.

They climbed the last steps of the stair, opened the last door. The meeting hall showed a grizzly picture. Corpses laying all around, the furniture was crushed or burned. A handful of demons patrolled the perimeter, two abominations standing guard near the only blood mage in the room, Uldred. The tall, bald man looked complacently on his prisoners, four mages, Irving being one of them. They seemed to be held in check by magical glyphs, but mostly unharmed.

Hearing their steps Uldred turned to face his 'guests'. "How wonderful, more aspirants for the changing. Please come in and make yourself welcome." Uldred pondered a moment. "You being here to my regret certainly mean that you killed my servants. That's a shame but …" A magical slap interrupted him, changing his friendly demeanor to an angered hissing. Natasha was not impressed, only her controlled expression showing that she expected a hard fight. "Conversation ended, time to kill."

Alistair rushed forward, Natasha occupied one abomination with a crushing prison spell while Leliana peppered the other with arrows, ice-magic woven into them. _Thirty I have from Bodahn_, Leliana thought, _hopefully enough_. The ex-Templar knuckled the abomination down with his shield, preventing it from advancing towards Leliana. On he went to Uldred, the mage revealing his true self that of a pride demon, towering above Alistair as would an Ogre.

Mikhail doing his best, rushing forth and back, to collect all demons, two of them made their way to Wynne. Cullen, hardly fit at the moment, only been back to movement thru Wynne's magic, tried hard to defend the older mage. The Templar felt weak as a child with Wynne saving him from one demon with a cold spell, Mikhail slashing at the other one. He wanted to really help in this fight but the time in the magical prison forced him into the role of a mere observer. Back and forth, left and right. Mikhail whirled around, having no time to disable a single rage demon, only hoping his companions fared better and be fast.

An ice grasp spell allowed Leliana to change for normal arrows and kill her target, chipping large parts of his body away with each shot. Natasha renewed her crushing prison spell – the shrieks of pain forcing a grim smile on her face – before circling Uldred and slashing at him from the rear.

"He does something to Irving." Cullen's warning was just in time for Wynne to use the Litany, saving the First Enchanter from Uldred's transformation spell. Being stunned from the Litany for a few seconds, Uldred allowed Alistair to slash at his legs. Natasha pulled her strength together and pierced his back with a vicious stab. Roaring the blood mage reversed to face her, punch her with his enormous fists. Leliana's arrows seemed only to annoy him, not doing any real damage. Alistair prepared to strike out with his Templar abilities, holding back as he realized he would hurt Natasha too. The mage swayed forth and back to evade the fists, stabbing and slashing all the time. "Now, Alistair." Natasha jumped away, escaping the brunch of Alistair smite but not all. Uldred went down on his knees while all around Natasha went black.

_Templar Quarters, Tower of Circle of Magi, 9:30, Justinian 23th Morning_

She awoke. Natasha needed more than a few moments to realize where she was and that it was Morrigan staring down on her. "Back among the living I see." A small smile showed on the face of the witch. Natasha tried to respond in kind, feeling bruises all over her body. "I feel as if a wagon crushed over me. Thank you for tending me again, Morrigan."

The witch shook her head. "No, I've only been here the last hour so that Iona could get a sleep." She pointed to another bed, the elven maid sleeping. "Mikhail sent a message after your victory." Natasha frowned. "Do you know what happened after I blacked out? The last things I remember was Alistair using his Templar's smite. I hope I'll never again face that."

"No. Certainly they won and went down afterwards, escorting some of your mages. Your first enchanter was among them and this Templar of yours, Cullen. He had to be forced by Mikhail to leave you alone her and get some rest by himself. Do you think it to be very practical to romance a Templar?"

Natasha leaned back, already exhausted by the small movements. "I don't romance him. We only trust each other very much; we're friends, not more." Morrigan scowled. "I had not the impression he thinks the same. But that's your funeral. Now get some more sleep. We'll talk later." Natasha nodded a bit, sleep encompassing her mind. The last thought being what happened to Connor?

_Templar Quarters, Tower of Circle of Magi, 9:30, Justinian 23th Mid-Morning_

"I thank you for your willingness to help in the coming battles, First Enchanter Irving. But now we have the urgent problem at hand with Connor. As far as I understand we need lyrium and a circle of Magi to open a door to the fade and send some other mage to confront the demon controlling Connor. Is that right?"

Irving agreed to Mikhail's words. "The Lyrium we have and the mages to open the door too. But I fear no one of us is really fit to fight the demon, at least not in the next days. We have to rest a while and trust the boy to be no danger while the Templars watch him."

"I'll do it. I'll go into the fade." Morrigan looked sternly at Mikhail. "Why do you look surprised? I'm surely not doing it out of friendliness. I only want to leave this golden cage. The faster we save Connor the faster we may go elsewhere. "

Mikhail suppressed a smile. "Yes, you're right. So it's settled then. The tower's mages open the door and you fight the demon. I hope we're over with this before Natasha awakens anew. I really don't like the idea of having to persuade her not going into the fade herself."

Irving only nodded. Since meeting Morrigan he and Greagoir had evaded the theme of her heritage and her status as an apostate. There were really more important things to discuss.

_Pier, Tower of Circle of Magi, 9:30, Justinian 25th Morning_

Wynne smiled as she remembered her discussion with Irving and the three wardens the evening before. She had asked to accompany the group. Natasha interjected. "I don't think that to be a good idea. Sooner or later I will do something stupid only to annoy Wynne. We're like cat and dog."

Irving laughed heartily. "I could require the promise from Wynne to hold back with good advices, but you know that this would be futile."

Natasha giggled. "Yes, it would be harder than training a dog to become vegetarian. Alright, if Wynne promises to teach me a new spell for every three advices, I'll take her with me."

Wynne smiled. "Make it five advices and we have a deal." The old mage felt relieved with Natasha being back at her old habits. But she never would forget the expression of her as they met in the tower. Now she watched from afar as Natasha said good bye to Cullen.

"I can't take you with me, Cullen. You're needed here. So many Templars and mages died, they'll need anyone to rebuild. Do me a favor and watch the mages. It will be hard work to get back to better days. You know both sides, the dangers of magic and the humanity of the mages. I trust you to merge duty with compassion as you always did."

She tried to give him a farewell kiss, but Cullen held her back, a small tear in his eyes. "No, please don't. I can't stand this yet, perhaps later. I'll need some time, too. But I'll try what you sad. I'm thankful you remembered me of the past, of your … imprisonment. And to give Irving and the other mages the same chance as you had after rescuing them from Uldred. I'm not sure that we haven't overlooked some blood mage among the survivors. But we have to take the risk, I fear."

With a start he embraced her. "Thank you, Natasha, for rescuing me. I really was nearly …" Natasha smiled. "No, you wouldn't succumb. And I promised to help, you remember? Thank you for giving me the chance to return the rescue." Cullen pressed a smile, releasing the mage from his embrace and watching as she entered the boat.


	20. Chapter 20 Interlude

**Interlude**

_Lake Calenhad, 9:30, Justinian 26th Midmorning_

The wind was a bit too strong for the voyage to be a pleasant one, but nobody wanted to be under deck. Natasha watched Petra, the young mage speaking friendly with Connor. It had been a suggestion from Wynne to allow Connor to go back to Redcliffe Castle, at least until the tower was in shape again to accommodate apprentices. Petra had the duty to watch over the boy and teach him the basics of controlling magic and the dangers of wielding it.

Natasha hadn't to look behind her to know it was Morrigan who neared slowly. "Thank you, Morrigan, for saving the boy." The witch growled a bit. "It was only to get out of there as fast as possible. And I know of your weak spot for children." The mage grinned. "You figured me out."

She rummaged thru her backpack, found the searched package; a book wrapped in a piece of cloth and tossed it to the witch. Morrigan's eyes widened as she came to realize what it was. Holding it fast to her breast, she asked: "It is what I think, yes? That's … surprising. I … I never hoped …"

Natasha laughed. "Yes, you hoped. I'm not sure about it being the right one; I hadn't time to look with Alistair or Cullen around me most of the time. But I hoped it would be from your description." Putting herself behind Natasha, Morrigan unpacked the book. A relieved sigh escaped her mouth. "It is. I … owe you."

The mage frowned. "You're terrible. I do you a favor; you help me at another time. It has nothing to do with owing anything. This book belongs to your mother, now you have it. If you give it back to her, it's fine. If not, I'll surely not argue. You bade me to look out for it and I was pleased to do something nice for you. As a …"

The word friend was stopped short by Morrigan's crying "NO. Don't use that word. You don't know me. Two months back you not even knew my name." The mage grinned wickedly. "I'm not very careful at selecting my friends. Look what other friends I had in the past. It's nothing to fear. Perhaps you should more be upset to be called amongst them."

"A very unusual combination these two are." Mikhail pointed towards Natasha and Morrigan. Wynne looked in the direction snorting: "I hope Morrigan doesn't rub off on Natasha too much. It would be hard for her back in the tower … not that I think she will ever again live there being a grey warden."

Mikhail nodded: "That I fear too. As a grey warden even in Ferelden without the structured order as in Orlais, there will be something to do all the time. Provided we'll survive this all. Wynne, I have a question for you. I'm not real sure how to put the relationship between Natasha and you. On one side she seems to evade you and not to be very pleased to have you with us. On the other side … she greeted you as you would be her long not seen grandma. Not that I would put you at the grandma-age, be assured."

Wynne laughed out loud. "Grandma, I could have been. But mages are not allowed to … But about your question: I knew her for a long time. Once she had been my apprentice. She … slipped my hand. I worked really hard to ease her, but I never found the right way. I feared it would be as with Aneirin. Aneirin was my first apprentice. In my youthful ignorance I totally fumbled his education. I made really bad mistakes that time and in the end he fled, left the tower to find the dalish. Templars were sent after him, found and killed him. He had done nothing wrong, it had been my fault. "

"And then I feared it would be the same with Natasha. So I spoke with Crellack, a city elven mage at the tower. He found a better way to teach her, a mix of magic and staff-fighting to steam off her temper. I think it had been a good time to her, but too short. After Crellack's death I took her back as an apprentice but tried to give her as much freedom as possible. For real I'm surprised about her showing these feelings. I can only guess that it stems from her experiences in the last weeks. I only hope my decision about her becoming a grey warden was not the false one."

Mikhail pricked up his ears. "What do you mean: your decision? " Wynne smiled faintly. "At the tower, the court nearing about her helping Jowan escape, I spoke with Stroud and Irving about a way to save her. That it would be the best to do making her a warden. "

"I see. She spoke about it once. That she didn't want to become a warden that she asked for being judged and made responsible for her deed. As I understood Greagoir had to extort her consent."

Wynne nodded gravely. "I'm not proud of it, but it was the only way to save her. She made an error, but I expect her to do so much good in the world … I couldn't stand aside and let her throw her life away. I … spoke with Greagoir. I was the one to tell him about Lily and how to use her as an argument." Mikhail gulped. "Oh. I think that to be better our small secret. This news would certainly not amuse her and I developed a healthy respect for her temper."

Wynne padded his arm. "Yes, sometimes she can be really frightening."

_Castle Redcliffe, 9:30, Justinian 27th Evening_

It had been a really good day so far. Leliana enjoyed her wine in 'the grey warden'. After Lloyd's death the inn had been handed over to Bella, the former tavern waitress. Her first act had been to rename the inn in honor of Natasha. Leliana had no idea what the mage had done, but she liked the idea.

Isolde had been so grateful to see her son again; Alistair the big oaf had been near tears seeing the family reunion. "What do you think our great heroes are discussing now?" Iona asked the bard. Leliana smiled. "Big plans for a marvelous future, I assume." For real Leliana feared a bit what Mikhail, Teagan and Alistair were talking about. One point for sure was the question of Alistair being the next king.

It would be a valid consideration despite Alistair being not amused about it. And it would end any ideas Leliana had about him. Since he presented her the flowers, they spend time together as much as possible. With his kind heart and insecurity in 'these' things, he was a completely change to her former admirers. And that he was, she thought, or hoped at least. Leliana wasn't sure about it. Perhaps it would be better to clear the question of Alistair becoming king now before anything … happened.

Looking to the pondering Iona the bard remembered her not being the only one with the uncertainty of the future. The elven maid faced the additional problem of being … an elf. Her own people wouldn't accept a human husband more than the people of Highever would agree on her accompanying Mikhail. As it seemed Mikhail and Iona had agreed about their relationship not having a future, but it was clearly visible to be hard on their feelings.

The door opened to Alistair and Mikhail. Alistair seemed so happy, choosing a seat beside Leliana and babbling like a child about an amulet he got from Teagan. "He said Eamon gave it to him for me. It's the amulet of my mother. I smashed it years ago in childish rage. And he found it, repaired it. Isn't it beautiful?" And endless stream of joy left his mouth, leaving Leliana with a bright smile. She nearly missed Mikhail, very stern looking and hard pressing not to show emotions, leading Natasha away.

Without further words the warrior led her to the castle, into the cellars and neared the prison cells. "Natasha, at the Magi tower I spoke with Irving about Jowan and this evening with Teagan. Both agreed to my idea." Mikhail hesitated, uneasy how to go on.

"Spell it out. What nonsense have you bred?" Natasha was in no mood to be nice with the theme being Jowan. Mikhail nodded, wanting to make it quick and dirty. "Two times you tried to kill him, two times we prevented it, but not a third time."

He gave a scroll to Natasha, a scroll from Irving allowing her to judge Jowan. "His fate is now yours to decide. There is only one condition. Spend the night here in the prison, speak with him. And at sunset, decide his fate. Kill him; send him back to be made tranquil, whatever you decide."

Stunned Natasha looked at the warrior, speechless for a long time. "Why?" Natasha had to harrumph a few times. "Why did you …" Mikhail explained not without compassion in his voice: "Your past is still hurting you. You have to leave it behind. If it is by killing him or sparing him, but you can't always look behind. We need you. "


	21. Chapter 21 Sharpened Blades

**Sharpened Blades and Pointy Ears **

_Miller's Rest, 9:30, Justinian 30th Evening_

It was quiet in the camp. Morrigan watched the cooking pot, this evening taking the task of preparing the meal. Sten stood guard, more concerned with thieves than any real attack. Miller's Rest was only 200 yards away, in parts seeable thru the woods. Bann Teagan had sent them here after getting a message that the Lothering fugitives had been fleeing to this greater waystation on the road Redcliffe – Denerim. Ser Donall, a Redcliffe knight on the search of the urn of Andraste, had been with the fugitives. Mikhail thought him to be the best starting point in search of Brother Genitivi, after the group accepted the task of finding the urn.

It had been an easy trip without a fight following the road to Denerim. Miller's rest settled at the edge of a clearing in the woods at the banks of a broad rivulet. The picturesque sight now was diminished by a larger gathering of tents and wagons, fugitives from the south taking a rest before going on to the larger villages and cities of Ferelden.

"Feet a bit more apart. Yes, right so. Shoulders up, arm steady. I fear you have to train your arm muscles a bit before you are able to use the full pulling range of this bow without quivering." Leliana was very content with her pupil. After having seen her training the Redcliffe militia Iona asked her for lessons in archery and the young bard was happy to comply.

Iona had very sharp eyes, perhaps a heritage of her race. And from the staff training with Natasha her hands had gotten a bit stronger and rougher, the bowstring not leaving so many marks as Leliana had feared. "I hate to be useless, only to watch all of you fighting and trying not to get in the way. Perhaps I never will be an archer like you, Leliana, but … any bit may help, yes?" Leliana smiled back. "Sure. And in a few weeks you'll be a crack with the bow, don't assume otherwise."

Watching Iona's further exercises, giving hints here and then, Leliana made a low sigh. It was too bad that even Iona was … unavailable for her. Morrigan she never really liked and Natasha had rejected her offer. She had been unusual polite but firm.

"Leliana, I like you very much, but it's only as a friend. No, it's not that you're a woman; I don't have reservations about that. But … simply sad, you're not my type. Not in body and not in mindset. That is not that you're not attractive and sweet, but … I like something other, search something other for companionship. And I really don't like the idea of having an 'interim' relation until one of us finds something more suitable."

"Look, Alistair and Mikhail are coming back." Interrupting their training for a while, the two women went to the camp. "I found Ser Donall. He had been wounded, not life-threatening but he won't be able to go to Castle Redcliffe for some days. But to mention the good news: he heard from the chantry sisters that Brother Genitivi had indeed been in Lothering, searching the books for hints about the urn. That had been some weeks ago and he went to the west afterwards, looking for a village in the Frostback Mountains named Haven."

Mikhail faced Leliana, irritated by her not seeming to be pleased. "Is there anything disturbing you?"

Leliana hesitated. "Yes, I mean no. I mean, it's difficult. The urn, Andraste, all this means much to me. I … have to think about it. But in the moment I wonder something other. While training with Iona I had the feeling of being watched. And when Alistair and you came back I had a glimpse of two men following you. Could anyone be especially interested in us? Maybe thieves or perhaps Alistair flirting to unbridled with the fugitives daughters?" Leliana tried to sound exhilarated, but failed poorly.

Showing a bit of concern Mikhail decided. "Better we're careful as long as we camp near Miller's Rest. By the way, has anyone seen Natasha?" Alistair nodded. "Yes, she had been with the smith, trading for some knives and swords as it seemed." Mikhail wondered: "what should she do with a sword?" But he got only a shrug from the ex-Templar. They had to wait another hour before Natasha finally reached the camp, tossing a sword and a knife in Sten's direction, both seeming to have a bit unwieldy grips.

"Do you recognize them?" Unsheathing the weapons, looking wide-eyed on the blue-shimmering blades, Sten only nodded and stayed silent for a few moments. "Where did you get them? These belonged to one of my soldiers which were killed near Lothering."

Natasha smiled. "I hoped so. You remember? I promised you we'll find your sword before our duel. It's a hint, a lead at least. The smith bought these two weapons from a trader fleeing from Lothering. He collected a number of Qunari weapons and armor on a battle field there. The smith bought only these two weapons, not being sure if he would be able to alter them for human hands. But he said that the trader wanted to go to Denerim. We should take a look there if we reach the city."

Sten pressed a smile. "Thank you. Thank you for the hope and the intention. "

_Miller's Rest, 9:30, Solace 1st Early Morning_

Mikhail had chosen the last watch. All was quiet. Natasha slept near the fire, in kicking range of the guarding companion. Leliana was already awake as it seemed after a not very deep slumber, but apparently had no desire to stand up. A low growl of Warrick was the only warning. The warrior crouched low, two arrows whistling over his head. Pushing Natasha's leg, Mikhail yelled a warning. More arrows followed the second volley already shattering against a field of force erected by Natasha.

Shadows moved in, while the companions struggled to get up and unsheathe their weapons. A fireball seized two of the tents, send Wynne down and put Alistair ablaze. Sten roared in anger, kicking one of the attackers away, cutting a second down with a wide-arced strike. Natasha gave a hiss, looked for the attacking mage.

A magical bolt hit her in the side, only arousing her rage. The foreign mage tried to hide in the bushes, causing a wicked smile from Natasha. "Nowhere to hide from that, darling." A manaclash spell met the hiding area, burned the targets mana away, causing terrible pain before death released her.

Meanwhile Iona put a blanket around Alistair, Morrigan healed the direst wounds with a spell and Mikhail held away the waves of enemies, most of them only brute thugs, but their leader being a total other caliber. Mikhail had to pull all his training to prevent the deadlier stabs. Suddenly his foe stiffened, shackles of energy preventing any movement. The thugs hesitated, then routed as one of them cried in agony with a crushing prison around his body, a second freezing from Morrigan's cold grasp spell, a third clutching his throat in the failing try to pull Leliana's arrow out.

"Leliana, look out if there is anyone left of the attackers. Iona, we search for valuables and hints why they attacked us. Morrigan, care for Alistair and Wynne. Natasha, Sten, yours is the prisoner. All go." Mikhail didn't wait for agreement before walking over to the killed Mage. Natasha gave Sten some time to shackle the prisoner's feet and hands before releasing him. The elven rogue tried to appear unimpressed but his eyes revealed the mix of awe and surprise he felt.

"Oh, ropes. I like ropes. But surely it is not …" A slap, very hard and surely not expected from a female mage, interrupted his speak. "You only speak if I request it and only answer my questions. If you evade my questions, I'll show you my ability in causing pain without death with my spells. Understood?" The elf showed a small smile, but nodded wordless. "Good. First: your name? "

"Zevran, but my friends call me Zev. May I ask your name?"

Natasha frowned, but changed to a hint of a smile. She had to admit that it impressed her that this prisoner was so unwilling to crumble in his defeat. "You may call me Natasha. So be it Zevran, 'cause I don't see any living friends of yours around. Second: why did you attack us?"

"A very unfriendly man in Denerim paid the Crows for killing any living grey warden, especially mentioning your two warrior companions. He said something about saving Ferelden, meaning surely saving his own hide. He was very afraid of a man called Mikhail Cousland. Oh, his name? Rendon Howe it was, Arl of Amaranthine as I heard."

"The crows? As in Antivan crows?" Natasha read about the assassin order, until now believing them to be more a story than reality.

"Yes." Zevran pressed a smile. "They will be a little upset about my failure, I fear. You know, it is widespread known that the Crows never fail. My underestimation of your prowess not to mention your gorgeous appearance will spoil their reputation. "

Natasha's smile broadened. "You are a terrible liar. I know how men assess my appearance. But it's nice to hear a compliment, even a poorly lied one." Zevran looked like being beaten, his eyes widening in surprise as Natasha loosened his chains. "Bugger off!" Sten growled: "Do you think this to be wise? He will return later." Natasha gave a laugh: "Sten, since when do you think me to act wisely? And you won't return, understood? If I see you again, you'll die in a slow and very painful manner."

Zevran took a step, two and a third, hesitated. "You try my patience, sweetheart. And you can bet I'm not known for patience from the first."

Zevran smiled reluctantly. "Of that I'm sure. But … may I make a proposal?" Natasha nodded. "Good. You have to know that my failure to kill you is not acceptable amongst the Crows. They'll now try to kill me even so. But … I like to live. Perhaps we can make a deal. I assist you in whatever task you have in mind and you protect me from my former comrades."

"What?" Mikhail finally returned just in time to hear this proposal. "No, that's impossible."

Natasha shrugged, smiling broadly. "Why not? You took Sten with us, a known killer of children. What could be more awful about this elf? But if you insist, you may kill him. But not before I had time to kill Sten. "

Mikhail growling and Natasha smiling left Zevran only to murmur: "This will be interesting. "


	22. Chapter 22 To be a King

**To be a King**

_Way to Haven, Edge of Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 7th Afternoon_

It had been a strenuous week on the road from Miller's Rest to the Edge of Frostback Mountains. Somewhere above them was Haven, the destination or at least next stop of their march. Mikhail decided to get some additional hours of rest before entering the stony ground in front of them.

The warrior used the time to be near Iona if only to watch her preparing the next meal and stitching some rips in the clothes. "Teagan and I tried to persuade Alistair to accept the crown when we reach Denerim."

Iona nodded without looking up. "Leliana assumed so. And had you success?"

Mikhail gave a low sigh. "I'm not sure. His tongue said yes but clearly his heart says no. He will comply if it is the only possibility, but if any chance to evade this fate surfaces he will surely grip it."

Iona pressed a smile. "And why do you want him to be king? If he is so refusing to this idea, perhaps there is another solution."

Mikhail shook his head in stern determination. "No. Loghain cannot be allowed to rule as a regent. Anora is a very sophisticated and able leader … in times of peace, but not in war. Alistair will be a good commander and has the right mix of honor, bravery and compassion to be a good king."

Finally Iona looked up, giving Mikhail a faint smile but showing sorrow in her eyes. "You would be a better king." The warrior laughed, tried to be humorous until he saw … "You can't be serious with that, Iona?"

Iona lowered the needle, pondered a few moments and had to clear her throat before she could answer: "I'm serious. Alistair is a real fine man. He will be a great champ of the good and a wonderful husband and father, I bet. But … have you seen the grief in his eyes after the battle of Redcliffe? And how thankful he was as Morrigan made the proposal of asking Irving for help in saving Connor?"

Surely Mikhail remembered. They had all been surprised, not by the idea but it coming from Morrigan who clearly disliked the whole circle thing. "He would have been destroyed if fate had forced him to choose between sacrificing Isolde and murdering Connor. Do you remember what you said to Natasha on the ship? I would accept blood magic to fight the blight but never Alistair. And exactly that is the problem with Alistair. He would be a fine king as long as no decision has to be made which forces him to do something nasty to achieve some greater good."

Iona groaned deeply. "And that's the difference to you. You have all his virtues but mixed with the will to reach the target even if it means to violate … someone. Or send soldiers to death. Make political decisions. You know better than I that a ruler can't be all nice."

Mikhail was more than a bit astonished that Iona was able to see these realities. But still he was not ready to let loose of his idea. "He may learn. We teach him …" Iona interrupted him sharply. "Teach him what? Teach him to be able to do unpleasant things? Sure you could, but it won't be Alistair afterwards. These … weaknesses … are the very point shaping his self: friendliness, a bit of naivety, kind heart. Take them away and he will be someone … something completely other."

Gulping Mikhail stayed silent for a while. "You made a good point. I have to think about it. And, Iona, please excuse me for … I mean I'm really impressed about your ability to see this all so clearly. I hadn't anticipated it from you and for this stupidity and prejudice I have to say: sorry. I'll really try to remember what a mind hides behind this beautiful face."

His voice getting more and more compassionate, Mikhail caressed Iona's cheek. For a moment she pressed her head against his hand, but then shoved him away. "Please, don't … don't hurt me more." Without another word of explanation she ran into the woods, leaving behind a completely puzzled Mikhail.

_Near the camp_

"So you have not been voluntary with the Crows, Zevran?" Natasha had been training with the elf for an hour, learning to defend against a fast enemy using short weapons. Now the two combatants enjoyed a break in the mild afternoon sun. "I had been seven and never heard of anything like the Crows as I was sold to them to be trained as an assassin. Seven sovereigns had been the price, I heard, real well for a scrawny boy."

Natasha sniggered. "I really can imagine you only bones and skin, clothes robbed from some drunken patron of this whorehouse, way too large and hanging loose. But you have improved since then." Zevran smiled. He liked this kind of teasing and flirting with the mage, even so as it seemed to distress Wynne and Alistair so much. "Is this so?" The elf looked Natasha deep in the eyes, laying one of his slender hands on her arm, causing a deep frown.

"If you like your hand you should place it somewhere else." For a moment Zevran thought about putting it on her leg, but refrained from doing so. "I really like the life of an assassin: the violence, the hunt, a clean kill at the end. There are simply some people out there who really cry 'kill me', don't you think?"

The mage agreed. "Yes, sometimes you have to kill and some people deserve anything we can deliver to them." Zevran continued: "But the Crows are a kind of gilded cage, perhaps like your tower of magi. The life is fine but you're not free in your decisions. Always you have to look behind your shoulder, always confined thru rules. And your leaders think you to be expandable if the moment demands it."

"Tell me something of your life as an assassin. Some adventure or how you trained, anything interesting." Zevran pondered a moment before asking with a slim smile. Perhaps I can tell you of the effects of Lanthrax Poison. I once had the opportunity of watching all seven phases." Natasha smiled back: "This would be very interesting."

"Oh, I see you have really macabre tastes. But perhaps it is better to tell you about my second kill … a mage." Natasha made a negative gesture. "That's for another time. Now I want to hear about this poison. You often use poison, yes? Which one is practical? And how may I detect and cure them?"

The following hour passed quickly with Zevran explaining the different weapon and digestive poisons. He was very astonished that Natasha was interested in this grueling theme, but impressed by her quick grasp of the possibilities and dangers of poisoning. "My dear grey warden, I have a question if you like to answer. When we trained our combat skills, didn't you fear that I exploit the situation? Alistair clearly thinks I'm only waiting for a chance to kill you. And Morrigan seems to be seconding, one of the few themes these two have a common opinion about. What if I tried to kill you?"

Natasha took a grim expression. "You wouldn't do that. You swore not to and I trust you."

"Is it that simple, yes? Don't you think it could be possible that you're too easily trusting? I'm an assassin to remember. And Morrigan, I think you trust her even more despite her being a nasty witch and all else. Blind confidence may get you killed."

"So does an arrow in the largest battle or falling from a ladder in times of peace. I trust, yes. Perhaps some time a person I trust kills me, but what? Better to be killed by a trusted person than never trust others. I couldn't live with always looking behind me and awaiting some nasty surprise. It's likelier that Mikhail gets me killed with a decision or Sten when finally we duel than being backstabbed by you. And about Morrigan … being killed by her is nothing I fear or would regret." The last words were only a whisper.

Zevran nodded his throat strangely coarse. "I see."


	23. Chapter 23 A very nice Village

**A very nice Village**

_Way to Haven, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 11th Afternoon_

A full day they had lost wandering around disoriented in the mountains before a trader they met thru sheer luck gave directions to Haven.

"Are you sure you want to go there? The inhabitants are very reluctant to admit strangers into their village. There are some very frightening rumors about the villagers and their leader. The fact alone that their spiritual leader is a male priest and not a revered mother is a bit disturbing."

On they went with Sten's mood decreasing every hour. "What do we do in these mountains? Here are no darkspawn. Gradually I have to conclude that you don't really want to face the Archdemon."

Before Mikhail had a chance to answer a furious Natasha interfered: "Sten, look at me. And now say: do you think I evade any combat?" Sten stared silently at the mage, and shook his head. "Then, Sten, do you think I fear the Archdemon? Or that I would make an unnecessary detour on the way to him?" Anew Sten shook his hand. "I don't know the reason to be braveness, stubbornness or madness but surely you wouldn't do that, perhaps a mix of it all."

Natasha pressed a thin smile. "I'll take that as a compliment – for now. After stating these facts, what does it tell you about me following Mikhail in this wilderness?" Sten sighed: "That you trust Mikhail and think it to be necessary."

Natasha nodded in agreement: "Sten, I understand your problem. You think as a warrior and you want to make a warrior's approach to the problem. But this won't be a small battle our group could win. We have to collect allies. Mages, elves, dwarves, all have to help in the coming battles. And Arl Eamon we need to solve the problems in the lands of humans, to unite them. Myself, I have no real grasp of politics, but I trust Mikhail to know the best way about this. Saving the Arl will be a major success for us equivalent to a won battle."

Continuing on their way Leliana said to Alistair with a smile: "Our little volcano is really improving on her diplomatic skills." Wynne rejected the opinion: "No, that hadn't been diplomacy. She only has the ability to express what she thinks in believable words. She really trusts Mikhail's leadership and has no fear to admit that."

Mikhail made a reflective expression: "I hope I deserve this trust. Sometimes I wish I had more of Natasha's honesty and less learned about political bickering."

Alistair threw his hands up in despair: "Oh, maker, please not. We really couldn't endure a second Natasha." The words were answered with a cheer of laughing and Natasha's: "I heard this, Alistair."

_Entrance to Haven, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 14th Afternoon_

"A very nice village," Alistair stated with a hint of irony in his voice. The guard at the entrance made it clear to the group that their stay was not welcome and they were expected to journey on as fast as possible. Only a few villagers were to be seen on the streets and even the few children were not inclined to speak with them. Nobody seemed to know Brother Genotivi. "Ask our leader, Father Eirik, if you must. He is in the chantry. "

But father Eirik too seemed to know nothing about Genotivi. "Perhaps he lost the way in the mountains; it is not easy to find our dale. Even so I don't know what he should want here in the first place. Our village is very uninteresting for city folk, never has there been something historical important in the vicinity. My people are not used to strangers. It would be helpful if you leave after refreshing your supplies. We don't have an inn ore something similar for staying anyway."

Mikhail decided to make camp some hundred yards away from the village." I'm not sure but I think he has something to hide."

Zevran agreed: "ah these insular villages, always something to hide. Perhaps it includes some ropes. Perhaps they allow me to join."

Natasha gave a snigger: "if you need ropes I surely could help. And perhaps someone agrees to give you a little spanking and whipping."

Zevran chuckled: "Ah, my dear warden, your ropes, and your spanking time. But perhaps we should postpone that to another time."

Alistair gave a little cough: "Alright, another theme. I propose that Zevran and Leliana use the darkness to take a look into the chantry. Perhaps they find some hints."

_Haven, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 14th Early Night_

Evading the sentries Zevran and Leliana had no difficulty in reaching the chantry.

"It's a bit late for a village elder meeting, don't you agree?" Zevran murmured, seeing the light in the chantry and hearing a mixture of voices. Glimpsing thru a window he saw Father Eirik together with a few villagers and two guards. These watched an elderly man who was questioned about the companions: "Who they are? Are these strangers in league with Redcliffe as the knights had been? Speak, Genotivi. You must know them, they have asked especially after you."

Brother Genotivi shook his head, his face full of pain, and the source being an antivan shoe around his left foot. Thru a mechanism it was possible to deliver great pain to the foot by spinning a grip. Eirik made a few rotations, one guard muffling the cries of pain with his hand clasped on Genotivi's mouth.

_Haven, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 14th Late Night_

Natasha's stonefist spell shattered the frozen cultist, being the last on their way up to the old shrine of Andraste Genotivi promised to be there. "I wonder how they assembled this horde of stupid. The village is not so large. And have you seen: most of them were men. It seems they are more inclined to accept this odd believe."

Sten, carrying Genotivi, whose foot was beyond Wynne's healing magic, grumbled: "It's no more odd than the believe of all humans about this deceased woman."

Leliana scolded him: "Sten, you told me of this Qunari belief. It is very strange for us but we can accept that you follow it. Please accept that we have another belief that's similar important to at least some of us. Try some tolerance, please."

"And if that's too painful for you, simply shut up as long as we are here." Natasha added without humor. Since rescuing Genotivi after killing Eirik and his henchmen she had been nervous and short-tempered. The prospect of seeing the old temple and possible the urn of Andraste's ashes made her uneasy in a way not even Wynne understood.

"There is the door, now I need the medallion of Eirik." Genotivi examined the difficult lock, pressed the medallion into a recess, shoving and pressing something around it and at last the door opened. The sight was incredible. A large hall, more than 50 yards long, 30 wide and 20 high. Thru some fissures in the walls water had entered and frozen to snow and ice, giving the hall an eerie sight. At the far end, up some stairs, a brazier gave a little light, not enough to penetrate the shadows but reflecting in the snow.

"I'll wait here. With my foot I would only hinder you. I search the sideways about mosaics and other hints about the temple. Good luck with your search, my friends."


	24. Chapter 24 Smelting Dragons

_I always wondered where all these cultists in the temple ruins came from. One small village but around one hundred armored followers (last PL I actually counted them: 93 cultists)? So I reduced the number of cultists and increased the number and variety of dragons and added some more stone-lickers (Brontos). _

**Smelting Dragons**

_Temple Ruins, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 15th Early Morning_

"Marvelous." Even Sten seemed to be really impressed by the architecture of the giant hall, hundreds of tons of stone building the ceiling twenty yards above. "How could this have been build, hundreds of years before in this remote place?" Mikhail's thoughts about the needed work to accomplish the building were interrupted by Iona's murmured words: "there are some people in the niches besides the stair. And I've seen a motion at the hallway to the left." Mikhail nodded and gave the others a sign to fan out.

They had only made a few paces before a magical light flared at the ceiling followed by a few arrows. One scratched Morrigan's leg, the others missed. But their situation was not very good, the archers nearly invisible and the companions without good cover. Natasha shielded herself and the nearby standing Iona against the arrows and began the casting of a complicated spell, while Iona and Leliana tried to occupy the enemy with their bows. Something charged from the sideway in direction of Iona and Natasha, something not very high but massy.

Iona changed the target, peppered the attacker with arrows, while Natasha neared the end of her spell casting. Fifteen yards, twelve, nine yards … with a roar Sten countercharged the attacker, a low wide strike with all strength of the Qunaris's arms and shoulders chopped the legs and let him slide another five yards before halting his charge in arm's range to Natasha. The mage finally ended her spell and a large cloud appeared at the hall's end, engulfing all enemies in a storm of wind and lightning. The archers fled from the cloud only to be cast down by arrows and lightning. Natasha's spell died down, leaving the silence of death. Only Iona saw the small rivulet of blood from her nose that Natasha secretly wiped away.

"A bronto, normally it is a useful beast of burden and flesh supplier. They require remarkably little sustenance. I read them to live from fungus and even rock reportedly. Must be some truth to it, else they cultists couldn't have a bronto around in this barren. Mm, around 800 pounds I suppose. So it should be a younger specimen. I hope they don't have the parents here. And Sten: thank you."

The last words were a bit pressed, the mage obviously not liking the idea to owe Sten something. "It was necessary." Sten only answered.

Rummaging the rooms they reached thru the sideway, they found two chamber the cultists lived in. Beside a heavy key the most interesting items were a large black pearl and a taper, both inscribed with runes, a short prayer to Andraste. Wynne took them with her. "I read about those items. They were used earlier to light special large braziers. Perhaps they will be useful later. "

"What do you think what this should be?" Mikhail pointed to six statues the size of dogs, partly destroyed thru Natasha's spell, created from ice, depicting wingless dragons.

"I have no idea." Wynne regretted. "Andraste never had any special conjunction to dragons, at least not in a positive way. From their prayers I would think these cultists have some type of Andraste worship, but a twisted one, showing too in choosing a male priest."

Following the hall deeper into temple they came across a heavy door with a complex lock, openable only with the key they found. A chamber lay behind the door with a large brazier in the middle, rows of books and scrolls at the sides. As Wynne lighted the brazier with the taper, speaking the short prayer, a fire sprang up, magical in nature, not needing any sustenance, spending light and warmth but not burning her hands.

"It's magic, isn't it?" Zevran tried a joke, but nobody laughed. With careful hands Leliana and the mages examined the scrolls, most of them barely intact, crumbling to the lightest touch, only a few having survived the long time.

"We must examine these later; we have no time to lose." Mikhail ended the survey, pressing the companions forward. With deep sighs the women followed. "Men can be so ignorant sometimes." Leliana murmured. "It must have to do with their inability to read all those little letters, "Morrigan added.

"What's that?" Alistair interrupted the ridicule, pointing to a stone statue in the next room, originally surely depicting Andraste but changed with a mix of masonry and magic, the figure now owning wings and the head of a dragon.

"Disgusting," Wynne spitted, trying to walk away fast, but her arm gripped by Alistair. "Wait. I feel … something." Natasha nodded: "yes, there is magic, perhaps a type of trap. Stay at the entrance, I go in and shield myself if needed." Not waiting for agreement Natasha entered the room. Alistair sighed. "Our little volcano on the …" A storm of fire interrupted him mid-sentence, waves of flames engulfing the whole chamber for a few seconds, and then dying down.

"Natasha." Iona's terrified cry shook the room. The vanishing flames unveiled a kneeling, smoldering mage, the last pieces of her magical shielding dying down as Natasha toppled to the ground. Before anyone had the chance to run for her help in the four corners creatures emerged, a mix of humanoids and clouds, created from dust and emanating heat.

"Ash demons," Wynne warned and ensorcelled the first with an ice spell. Alistair protected Morrigan from the other demons, whilst the witch pumped healing magic into Natasha's body, one after the other demon falling to his Templar's powers and Wynne's magic.

"Perhaps I overestimated my spell shield a little bit." Natasha's words came with a bit of irony but very weak. The noise of a slap permeated the room. A puzzled Natasha looked up to a very angry Morrigan. "If you're fit enough to make jokes, you're also fit enough for some slaps." A backhanded slap followed, Morrigan's ring making a small cut to Natasha's cheek. "The next time you do something stupid like that again, I'll borrow the plate gauntlet from Mikhail before slapping, understood?"

Natasha pressed a smile. "Yes, Siha, I'll try to be more careful." The chasind word forced a confused expression on Morrigan's face, while Natasha slowly stood up and followed the others with careful movements.

With only a few words breaking the silence the companions went farther into the temple, following the foot prints of former visitors, seeing marvelous rooms with mosaics about Andraste's live and statues of humans and elves accompanying her in her struggles.

"Do you know what that word had been? This 'Siha' I mean?" Iona softly asked Leliana. The bard pondered a moment. "I'm not sure, I have an idea but I never learned more than a few pieces of chasind. But I may be incorrect. You could ask Natasha." Iona shook her head. "No, surely not about something like this. "

"A passageway, seemingly to the caves below," Zevran proclaimed the result of his scouting. With a last glimpse back the companions followed the elf into the lower darkness.

_Comment:_

_As you perhaps know 'Siha' is a word from Mass Effect and has another meaning there. But I liked the sound and was in need of a Chasind word. The explanation will follow later. _


	25. Chapter 25 Bronto Steaks

**Bronto Steaks**

_Caves below the Temple Ruins, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 15th Morning_

The first thing they noticed was the smell. Blood, rotting flesh, and excrements, they all mixed together to form an awful and disgusting cloud lingering in the caves. To the left a kind of stable was to be seen with a dozen of those brontos in it. They seemed to be sleepy, not disturbed by the smell or the noises of the cultist who was cleaving the remains of one of their kind to divide it in smaller parts. Morrigans sleep spell allowed the companions an unchecked search of the caves around. There were a total of three of the stables with brontos, in the third being held captive the only full grown examples. "Why do they need so many brontos? With this flesh a whole army of Mabaris could be fed." Alistair wondered.

Following the tunnels the smell of rotting flesh slowly was replaced by something other, unknown to all of them. Padding feet with small claws could be heard, some kind of hissing, crunching of bones, tearing of flesh. "Yes, my little darlings. Eat, grow. Not long and then you'll join your brethren. Here is more." A new staccato of hissing, tearing and crunching followed. A careful look around the next corner revealed two cultists with buckets looking in a trough confined thru slick stone walls with a whirl of large lizards within.

"Dragonlings," Leliana murmured astonished. "When will the next hatch be ready?" One cultist asked the other one. "Korgrim said in a week, ten days at most. The other trough is ready for them. Its better we hold them apart else the older dragonlings mistake their brethren for food."

A few minutes later they dragged the cultists' corpses into a niche to hide them, wondering what to do with the dragonlings. "I really don't like the idea of killing helpless creatures, but if we let them live, they will bring havoc to all villages in the vicinity." Wynne pondered, and then with the agreement of her companions killed the caged dragonlings with her spells, her stony face not revealing her emotions further.

It was not before reaching another great cave that they met any stiff resistance. "Eight cultists I see, Zevran announced, mostly warriors but two of them mage I assume. And … there are dragonlings, larger one. I saw three of them the size of a horse."

Mikhail frowned: That doesn't sound good. "We can't allow these drakes near our ladies. Best Alistair and I try to hold off the drakes and warriors, Sten and Zevran try to intercept anyone evading us and the rest stay behind us. Natasha, your job is to kill the mages."

Deviating from her normal behavior of staying silent this time Natasha supposed another plan. "Zevran leads me to the cave. I attack them with an area spell. With luck I surprise them and can kill the mages first strike. We rush back and fight in the tunnel. There is less room for the cultists to avoid Mikhail and Alistair. And synchronizing our cone spells – Wynne in the middle with fire, Morrigan right with ice and I to the left with lightning – we could do an awful punch to the clenched mass of enemies."

Mikhail approved and silently as possible Natasha and Zevran crept into the cave. But as any soldier knew: a plan seldom undergoes unchanged. Only seconds after entering the cave a lone cultist, until now resting behind a rock out of Zevran's sight, stood up and detected the intruders. Zevran's throwing dagger pierced the cultist's throat but didn't prevent a last shout, alarming his comrades. Standing stoically as if in the mage tower's training hall Natasha began casting her spell, ignoring the rushing enemies, the drakes being not very fast. Only split seconds before the enemy mages could cast their first spell, Natasha's mana clash finished. With piercing cries both mages went down, unknown to Natasha if dead or only unconscious.

"My dear warden, we should …" Ignoring Zevran's urging words Natasha stood her ground, her smile a bit frightening the elf. Five yards, four, three. Showing her fiercest grimace with a loud cry she released a wave of telekinetic force, tumbling the cultists before she turned and followed the elf as fast as she could. A wild mass of bodies of cultists and drakes tried to get some order into the attack, following the mage into the tunnel, stopping as Alistair and Mikhail became visible blocking the path.

The cultists at the rear shoved their comrades towards the companions, themselves being pressed by the drakes. Someone tried to open a way for the drakes to pass the cultists only adding to the tumult. Sizzling, roaring and hissing the cone spells were released, causing an awful smell of burned flesh and scales. Weeps of pain emanated, strengthened as the drakes in their distress bit at everyone near them. Giving their mages some time to recover, Mikhail and the others went forward and made short work of any surviving creature, be it a cultist or drake. Silence fell into the tunnel, the floor slippery by a mess of human and drake blood, causing nausea to everyone.

_Leaving the __Caves below the Temple Ruins, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 15th Mid-Morning_

After killing another handful of cultists and a single drake and destroying two caves full of dragon eggs, the companions neared the exit of the complex, a tunnel leading to a small shrine overlooking a dale behind the ruins. "I wonder were this Korgrim is, "Alistair asked. "It sounded as if he would be the leader here but he hasn't reacted to our attacks. At least I can't remember to have seen anyone special between all those cultists."

Iona pointed to a small group of cultists, waiting near tumbled shrine ruin halfway across the dale, on the other side being visible the entrance to another structure embedded into the rock face. Six cultists surrounded another one, this one especially large and well-armored and armed with a battle-axe, a horn strapped at his side. "Seems a bit too easy, no?" Zevran wondered. "Four of them have heavy crossbows and there is no place to hide and sneak."

Iona added: "I'm more disturbed why he's waiting out there in the open." Mikhail nodded in agreement. "Perhaps Alistair could go on, explain that we're only harmless knowledge seekers and don't want to disturb. Reach some peaceful solution, no?" Zevran joked. "Better sell you to them for passage right," Alistair glared back. "They noticed us, so why do they wait? There aren't any possible hideouts, so there won't be other cultists waiting for a surprise attack."

"Dragon," Morrigan uttered her idea. "The dragonlings and eggs don't come out of thin air. There is a large dragon, the lair probably somewhere up the cliffs. Somehow this Korgrim is able to summon her. That would also explain why all these cultists follow him." Hesitantly Mikhail agreed. "I fear Morrigan to be right. That's terrible. I really don't know how we could face these cultists and the dragon at the same time. "

"I could shield you against the dragon's worst attacks with Wynne healing. You would have to endure the onslaught while the rest of us kill the cultists. But my plan has a slim flaw: How do we urge the dragon to attack you and no other?" Natasha suggested half-heartedly.

"I have a plan about that. Sten, come with me, you others waiting here." Iona clambered back into the caves. Some minutes elapsed, companions and cultists waiting in some strange standoff, and then Iona returned, dragging a splintered egg and Sten carrying two buckets full of awful smelling paste. "This will be a bit disgusting," Iona explained, placing the egg into Mikhail's hand, cloaking it with a blanket. On her signal Sten poured the paste, a mix of blood and other dragonling fluids, on Mikhail. "You see: dragon bait." The warrior mumbled something about Iona waiting long for doing this, but then went down the slope towards Korgrim; Natasha followed and shielded him from possible crossbow bolts.

As expected the cultists began to shoot bolts and magical missiles at Mikhail, mostly deflected by Natasha, but a single arcane missile hitting his side and another bolt scratching his thigh. Slowly Mikhail advanced further, the egg protecting with his shield. The rest of the group followed twenty yards behind, Leliana and Iona annoying the crossbowmen with their bows. Then Korgrim put the horn at his lips. And loud sound erupted, frightening beyond the simple noise. An angry bellow answered from the cliffs. Mikhail hesitated a moment, then continued his march towards the cultists, leaving Natasha behind.

A large, winged creature erupted from the cliffs, far larger than expected, the sight terrifying. It winged a rollover, passed the group way out of arrows range and allowed a good look at its giant claws. The cultists didn't attack in force but changed targets to the group and waited for the dragon to make a first strike.

"Come here, you craggy lizard, come here and die as your children have before." Mikhail revealed the egg, held it high for a few seconds and then made a show of hurling it to the ground and stumping on the shards. For a moment Mikhail feared the plan to go awry as the dragon made a pass to the group. It released a breath of flame onto them before changing its flight and landing near Mikhail, instantly snapping at the warrior.

Natasha shielded the group as good as possible, leaving it to Wynne to heal the burnings and to Mikhail to evade the first attacks of the dragon. Smelling the dragonlings blood was enough to enrage the dragon, let it forget the rest of the group, only wishing to destroy this human, tear and bite it apart, crush it with feet and wings.

The group rushed forward, Leliana and Morrigan targeting the mages, Alistair running for Korgrim. Wynne draped a lifeward spell around Mikhail before following the others, the distance being too great to heal all companions. Shielded by magic, his weapon strengthened thru Natasha's spells Mikhail accomplished some light wounds to the dragon, hurting more its pride than doing real damage.

Forgetting any thoughts about being wounded themselves Sten and Zevran tried to kill the cultists as fast as possible, but these men were the cultists finest, the fight protracting far longer than hoped. Especially Korgrim himself was and admirable foe, Alistair barely able to hold ground. In the meantime more than once Natasha had to deflect an attack of the dragon, Mikhail beginning to wear from the exhaustion to evade this massive onslaught. Then he stumbled, the dragon instantly exploiting the chance to snatch him with its fearsome jaws, hurling the warrior to left and right as would a crocodile. Only Natasha's shielding prevented Mikhail from being torn in halves, before the dragon flung him away.

Content with its victory the dragon rushed towards the companions, Morrigan and Wynne being nearest to it. While Wynne was too occupied with healing Alistair and Sten, Morrigan realized the danger. Instead of evading she made the grave mistake of attacking with her spells, not doing much damage but getting the notice of the dragon. Bellowing in rage the dragon directed towards her, started a deadly biting attack. Paralyzed by fear the witch wasn't able to move, could only watch wide-eyed as the massive jaws neared to tear her apart.

Then something hit the dragon in rear and side, a lightning so bright that it blinded Morrigan, followed by a tremendous thunderclap. Magical energies slashed the dragon's side, tearing the skin of the wing away, cracking dozens of scales, burning flesh, wounding his hind-leg. With a bellow of pain louder than any heard before from the companions the dragon halted its attack, its leg relenting under its weight, the wing flapping useless.

Alistair used Korgrim's terrified shock to shove his sword thru the cultist leader's neck, Sten following swiftly by cutting down the last cultists. The dragon slowly turned around and limped towards the lone figure lying on the ground. Iona and Leliana rushed as fast as possible past the dragon and started to pepper it with arrows. The effect was nearly nonexistent and the beast dangerously nearing Natasha as a lucky shot of Iona pierced one eye.

Helpless the dragon tried to pull the arrow away, turning right and left to avoid further pain and gave Zevran the chance for a very daring move. In full run he neared the dragon, jumped on the base of its tail, then on the back, sliding down its side, halting his fall with a stab from his dagger in the wounded side of the beast. Pulling upwards he hefted his sword, stabbed the burned flesh with it, and leant on the pommel, to slowly but surely drive it into the dragon for its full length. Whirling around with the rest of its might the dragon succeeded in throwing of the elf at last, biting at the sword in useless rage. Sten and the other companions hurried to drag Natasha and Zevran away from the dragon, trashing in deadly pains. The death struggle endured more than a minute before it crashed to the ground and did its last breath.

The battle was over, the dragon killed but at what a cost.


	26. Chapter 26 Ashes to Ashes

**Ashes to Ashes**

_Shrine of Andraste, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 15th Midday_

"How is he?" Iona asked Wynne with a low voice, neither able nor willing to hide her concern about Mikhail's condition.

Wynne looked up with a grim face. "I won't lie to you, Iona. His wounds are very dire, indeed beyond my capabilities I fear. I'll do my best but …"

"We must succeed in reaching the urn," Natasha added with a hoarse whisper. She had been senseless after the battle for more than an hour, even now barely able to speak.

Iona nodded, tears running down her face. "You're right. We will succeed and he'll recover." Even Morrigan showed an unusual compassion in staying silent about her doubts regarding the ashes' effects.

After the battle the companions had entered the shrine, dragging Natasha and Mikhail with them. Down the first hallway a single 'human' was to be seen, an armored man. No magical genius was needed to detect this human to be some kind of unnatural warden for the shrine. "What shall we do now?" Alistair asked helpless. With Mikhail senseless the ex-Templar felt disoriented.

"We go on, what else. Morrigan and Zevran stay here with Mikhail. It is nonsense to drag him around and someone has to care for him. Leave Warrick with them, Iona. We others try our luck with that warden there over. Sten, carry me." Natasha worked hard for some seconds before pressing a 'please'.

"Wouldn't it be better with me staying here?" Wynne asked. It was a bit odd for her asking the younger mage for advice.

"No," Natasha rejected. "You have done all what is possible now. Morrigan has enough healing knowledge to do what is necessary now. And she, as Zevran too, is … not so eager to reach the ashes as we others do. I know you a bit Wynne. You'll regret it if you don't accompany us for the last steps in this pilgrimage." Natasha shot a questioning look towards Morrigan and the witch nodded her silent agreement.

Alistair led the group towards the warden, who stood complete motionless in front of the single door. A creepy feeling tingled his back, unsure what awaited them. Would the warden let them pass? Challenge them for a fight? Or was it all some kind of stupid joke, nothing waiting behind the warden except empty rooms.

"Why are you here?" A hollow voice permeated the hall, touching 'something' in their chests, remembering them for the first time they went into a church, hearing their first prayer.

"We …" Alistair cleared his throat; "we are here to seek the urn of Andraste's ashes. We need it to save an honorable man who is gravely ill."

"And to save our comrade who had been gravely wounded from the dragon's claws." Iona added.

"I understand. Your aim seems honorable. That you succeeded in killing the dragon and its false prophet shows your braveness and virtue. But it is not my right to allow you to reach the urn. A gauntlet is awaiting you, testing your wisdom, cleverness and compassion. Only by passing these tests will you be able to touch the urn and survive. "

"Then open the door, we have lives to save." Natasha urged.

With loud rambling and clacking the door opened slowly. Behind a large chamber was with another door and niches to the sides, four left and four right, ghostly figures waiting in them.

As Alistair approached the first ghost, a voice broke the silence: "The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not." By instinct Leliana answered "a tune" and the ghost was content. "Yes. I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing, she celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say The Maker himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she sang no more of simple things."

Waving her to go on Alistair watched as Leliana went from ghost to ghost, answering their riddles without hesitance. Mercy, Vengeance, Dreams, Hunger … on and on she went, being surprised as no ghost remained and the smiling Warden opened the next door. Iona hugged the bard: "Good, very good, Leliana."

A lonely cloaked figure waited for them. "Only one of you has to pass this test. Who should it be?"

Wynne went forward, stopping with a cry as the figure turned around. It was an elf, a dalish mage as it seemed. "Aneirin, you … are you dead?" Natasha gave a startled look as she saw tears running down Wynne's face. "Hello, Wynne. Who knows? Perhaps I am a ghost or only an illusion."

Wynne hesitated. "Why are you here? Oh, Aneirin, I wished I had been a better mentor for you. I was so young and proud, not able to show the patience and compassion you needed, being thrown into this alien world of the tower. And then … the Templars went after you, calling you an apostate. It had been so false. Please forgive me. "

Aneirin smiled friendly. "Don't pain yourself, Wynne. Decades passed since that time and you grew in wisdom and virtue, learning from your failure. It is time to let loose. I'm sure sometime somewhere we will meet again. I have this parting gift for you. Remember me when you look at it. Farewell, Wynne." He handed her a wood-carved amulet, slowly passing away. Long Wynne stood still before she hanged the amulet around her neck, pressing it tight with closed eyes.

Passing another hallway they reached the next chamber. "Another one is to be tested here. You may help him with words, but not with deeds." Quietly Sten sat Natasha on the ground and walked on. Suddenly a large group of humans appeared, peasants as it seemed. All ages were present, children as well as aged ones. They neared Sten with threatening raised weapons and tools. Hesitantly he drew his greatsword, parrying the first blows, evading the attacks. But more and more the peasants pressed him back, surrounded him. Sten stroke back in earnest wounded one of the peasants only to find the same wound on his own chest. Hitting another peasant he only accomplished a wound to his own leg.

"Sten, Andraste wants to test your wisdom and compassion, not your weapon arm's strength," Iona called out. "But I'm a follower of the Qun, not of Andraste," Sten grumbled back, slicing another peasant and wounded his arm. "Sten, don't be a block-head and listen to the wise lady," came Alistair's advice. All held their breath as Sten followed the advice, threw his sword away and kneeled down in front of the peasants. Stoically he endured their hits, not going down but also not fighting back. On and on went the trashing before from one second to the next all disappeared, leaving behind a shaken but unwounded – besides the three cuts he made himself – Sten.

"Oh no," Alistair sighed, looking into the next room: "Another riddle. I'm so bad with those."

The round room was essentially a balcony around a large pit. Eight plates to stand upon circled the pit, a ninth being on the other side. Their tests showed these plates to create pieces of a magical bridge spanning the gap, a combination of two plates need for every piece to be stable. Natasha, Wynne and Leliana this time worked together to find the right combination, leaving it to a very frightened looking Alistair to pass the bridge and use the ninth plate to create a bridge for the rest of the group.

"See, was not so tough, or? Only trust your wise ladies." Leliana's giggle was interrupted by Alistair who pressed a short but intense kiss on her lips. "I always will," a very blushing Alistair agreed. "That's … good." Leliana whispered, not indicating if she meant Alistair's agreement or the kiss, possibly both. Anyhow her smile showed that she was not angry about his rush action, which did much to reassure Alistair.

"Your last test waits. As many may try as you wish." The Warden led them to the last room, a large hall dominated by a tall statue of Andraste. In front of her was a dais, an urn standing on it and a roaring wall of flames around. An eerie feeling engulfed them, forced them to go on only hesitantly. With each step the feeling strengthened. First Sten, then Wynne and at last Leliana stopped their paces, Alistair slowly but firmly walking on and Natasha half bracing on Iona, half dragging her.

"You have more reason than any other to be her," she whispered to the hesitant elf. Iona nodded and smiled insecure. She gripped Natasha's arm stronger and went near the fire, stopping Alistair. "Wait. It … it doesn't feel right. To be near the urn with these weapons, armor, the signs of fight. What do you think?" Alistair considered Iona's words a few moments, and then began slowly to cast off his weapons, his armor and the rest of his clothes, not looking back or to his side where Iona and Natasha followed his example.

Being naked as the Maker created them the three companions linked their arms and strode past the flames, praying to be worthy and not consumed by the fire. It tingled, it warmed their hearts but the flames left them unharmed. With trembling hands Natasha touched the urn, opened it, indicated Alistair and Iona to fetch a pint of ashes. Reluctantly they followed her order, walking back thru the flames to their clothes and very careful stored the ash away. Meanwhile Natasha spoke a short prayer silently, closed the urn and followed her companions.

On their way back to the entrance all three were very silent, nearly missing the farewell wishes of the warden, Natasha later did not remember her showing Iona how to create a healing tonic with the ashes as an ingredient. Seconds later the mage fell asleep, no more able to see how Iona administered Mikhail her tonic and watched hoping and praying it would help.


	27. Chapter 27 Magical Mothers

**Magical Mothers**

_5 miles east to Haven, Frostback Mountains, 9:30, Solace 16th Evening_

"Leave me alone." Natasha yelled at a very confused Morrigan.

After leaving the vicinity of Haven the group divided with Alistair, Wynne, Leliana and Iona going back to Redcliffe as fast as possible, while Morrigan, Sten and Zevran stayed with Mikhail and Natasha to give them some time to recover.

Out of boredom Morrigan had begun to speak with Natasha about her magic and how impressed she had been to see her spells' impact. "I've never seen such magic. My mother surely is all around more powerful but that's in a different way. But your pure destructive force, that's was unbelievable. How do you …" It came right surprising for her how negative and outraging Natasha's reaction was.

The mage sat with her back at a tree, fighting with her emotions. Many different feelings showed on her face, the most distinct being fear and despair, two emotions Morrigan surely not had expected. She walked a few steps away, waited in silence for an answer. Nearly she gave up, as Natasha finally managed to make up her mind.

"My magic … this kind of magic … I don't want to use. Magic is very special to me. Have you never wondered why I don't use magic as Wynne or you? For the little daily things, lighting fires, lifting weights, sheltering from the weather? Magic is constantly tempting to me. It whispers to me, tugs at my mind to use it, makes sweet promises. The more magic I use and the stronger it is, the more intimate gets the urge to use more. And when I use my soul-magic as I have done with the dragon, it is tenfold in appeal."

"I fear to lose control, to become absorbed into the magic. And that would be dangerous for me. For one I use part of myself to fuel these powerful spells, drain my essence and my emotions. Crellack warned me that I'm surely able to kill myself with such magic. And then there is the fade. You know, Morrigan, that there are ghosts and demons in the fade, representing different emotions, virtues and flaws such as hunger, rage, but also justice or compassion. Every time I use my soul-magic I tear a rip into the fade, sending impulse similar to a light-house, attracting ghosts and demons, the type being determined thru my emotions in that moment. As I attacked the dragon I had luck, because my first thought was not to kill the dragon but to save you. So I attracted ghosts of protection and … other positive feelings. But when I lose my control anytime, if I ever use my soul-magic in rage or pride …"

"I think this is also the reason why I can't learn your shapeshifting magic. It would be a kind of magic I have to hold up all the time and my mind … I trained it so hard the last years to use my magic only in battle; that it shies away from such spells."

Morrigan had been very silent while Natasha made her confession, trying to work out what these dangers would mean to her. "I understand. Please accept my gratitude for saving me with using this magic. I will try to not push you in a situation to use it again." Her feelings, her slight frustration about the news must have shown on her face, because Natasha stood up, walked to her and linked arms. "What it is, Siha? Don't evade me. You wanted to ask a favor from me, you said before my little breakout. I assume it has something to do with my soul-magic, yes?"

As always in the last days when Natasha used her nickname for Morrigan, the witch was a bit irritated. "I … I … no, it is nothing. Nothing important, we can discuss it later." As she tried to go away, Natasha held her back. "Don't be such a fuss. Tell me what's on your mind. I surely won't be angry and with a 'no' you have to live. What's on? Is it something about what you read in the black grimoire?"

Morrigan frowned, being annoyed that Natasha could read her face so easily and conclude what was going on. Sighing she answered all the way: "Yes, it is about the book. I learned how my mother … how she was able to survive for so long. Surely you remember the stories I told about Flemeth's daughters. Listening to the tales there should be some, but I never met any and my mother didn't want to discuss them. The reason is … these daughters my mother reared only for one reason, to secure her further living. When her body is old and frail, she uses a ritual to leave it behind and conquer the body of her daughter, destroying her daughter's soul in the process and allowing her other decades in a healthy body. This would be my destiny when I return after fighting the blight."

Natasha pondered about Morrigan's words, neither asking her knowledge or intentions, only thinking about what could be done. "So you hoped I could kill your mother with my magic?" Morrigan gravely nodded. "Yes, I hoped it to be possible. Myself I can't fight with her. I have not the power and there is the danger that she would be able to control me, possibly taking over my body in the moment of her death. After your spell against the dragon I hoped … but no, we find another way."

With a grim smile Natasha looked at Morrigan, staying silent for a minute before declaring: "Sometimes you really are a sly little bitch, Morrigan, manipulating me with your 'I hope but I won't urge you' approach." Natasha made a hoarse laugh. "But don't fear, we'll solve your 'little problem' in time. Not now but … early enough. "

Morrigan's expression changed forth and back between anger and gratitude. At last she pressed her answer: "I can't say that I'm not thankful for your decision. This danger is too great for me to let it go unheeded. But believe me, please, that I mean in earnest: Don't endanger yourself to much with this task. Undertake it only together with the others and when you're feeling strong enough to do it with your normal magic. It will be dangerous nonetheless, but surely less than our planned fight against the Archdemon, yes?"

Natasha nodded in agreement, her heart overshadowing her mind with the wish the care in Morrigan's eyes to be truthful: "we'll see."


	28. Chapter 28 Great elven Warriors

**Great Elven Warriors**

_Redcliffe Village, 9:30, Solace 27th Evening_

"They are quiet taking with each other, don't they?" Wynne asked Iona smilingly looking after Alistair and Leliana. The warden and the bard used their spare time wandering along the shore, picking flowers, speaking little silly things and in all enjoying the other's company. They had been in Redcliffe for four days now, Mikhail and the others coming to the castle only yesterday. The next day it was planned to begin the search for dalish elven clans, the Arl now recovering at last from the poison thanks to the ashes.

"Yes, they are, I fear." The regret in Iona's voice was nearly tangible. "Please, don't misunderstand me. I really deign them their feelings and this time together, but … a month ago as I nearly shoved Alistair into this relationship, I thought it a good idea. Out of the mood after the battle I wished them to have some joy. But on the long term I fear only pain can evolve from such a liaison."

"You heard it: Arl Eamon wants Alistair to be made king and Mikhail is supporting it. Leliana could never marry him; the Fereldans would not allow that, being the child of a servant and her being an Orleasian. I know, her mother was fereldan but she was born in Orlais, reared there, lived there for the greater part of her life. I thing in her feelings she still is a great bit orlesian. So what could it be, his mistress? I don't think this would go good for a long time."

"I very hope it all turns out good for them but I also hope that they change their relationship to friendship before someone gets hurt too much."

Wynne watched Iona's face in silence, before responding to her words. "I understand. I hope myself that their relationship doesn't blossom into full love. The life of a king and the life of a grey warden are not very compatible with romance. But, Iona, ask your heart and tell me: with your knowledge now would you really say it had been better not to know Mikhail for you? What is better, to love and be hurt or not to love at all?"

Iona's shoulders trembled, finding comfort in Wynne's embrace. "You're right. I wouldn't want to miss these weeks. Even with the pain seeing how Mikhail holds distance to me, trying to let our feelings die out, I don't regret it really. "

Wynne pressed a smile: "Now to something more joyful. You never told me about your child."

Iona's face took a lighter shade." I have a daughter. Her name is Amethyne. She is seven years old. Since my mistress only had a small house in Denerim I had to leave my daughter with a relative in the alienage. I miss her much but I hope she is fine there. At least I have many stories to tell when we see again. My husband, he died two years ago from a disease. It had been a hard time, even with Lady Landra being … having been … a very nice mistress. She allowed me as much time as possible with my daughter."

A deep sob escaped her throat. "It's so unfair that she had been killed by this treacherous bastard. She never had anything to do with politics and who rules in Highever, was only a guest at the wrong time. "

Wynne gave her a strong hug. "You'll see your daughter again. And I'm sure Mikhail will see for your well-faring when this all is over. And should he forget to do so, tell me. A few strong slaps are good for remembering."

Even Iona had to smile with the picture in her mind of Wynne lessoning Mikhail.

_Dalish Camp, Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 8th Evening_

"I'm not afraid of you; I'm a great elven warrior." Mikhail gave the elven boy a broad smile. "I know. And you should never fear anyone. Be careful, yes, because only the stupid ones aren't careful and the stupid ones die early. But never fear."

After leaving Redcliffe they went first for Benwick, the hamlet Tamara Hawke had mentioned back in Lothering. As Lothering the small hamlet had been destroyed by darkspawn too, the burned down houses causing much depression among the companions. But after Zevran found the traces of a flock of hallas it had been easy to find one of the dalish tribes. The welcome was a bit uneasy, Mithra the elven guard nearly turning them away, but now they were barely tolerated guests.

Mikhail had promised to try to help them with their werewolf problem, now speaking for a long while with Sarel, the clan's story teller, about the dangers in the forest. Sarel had warmed up significantly to Mikhail after the Cousland impressed him with his broad knowledge about dalish history and the conflicts between humans and elves. Silently Mikhail had spoken thanks to his mother for telling him about this dark chapter of human history. He felt surprisingly at ease in the camp for a man born and reared up in a city, never experiencing the wilderness live aside from his warden days.

But the real surprise of the day had been Morrigan. After allowing Iona to drag her to Elora, the dalish halla keeper of the clan, she spoke with her about her concern about one of the hallas. The expression of Elora was quite a sight as Morrigan shifted into the form of a halla, giving the frightened animal comfort and so allowing Elora to find the cause of the halla's problem. After that the clan's disposition towards the group had been better, the side remarks a touch less angry.

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 13th Afternoon_

Since days they stumbled thru this wood, which seemed to act like a sentient being, hindering their movements with scrub and roots slinging around their ankles. Two times they had been attacked by some kind of living trees, sylvan called from the dalish, raging spirits who inhabit trees. Four times they had been attacked by wolves or bears, the animals don't acting normal. Just this morning happened what they had been looking for and likewise feared to happen: an attack from a large group of werewolves.

The fight had been frightening. With howling and yowling the savage creatures attacked, strong as Sten, swiftly as Zevran, with sharp claws and dreadful jaws. Avoiding to be bitten had been prime priority with shackling the attackers thru Wynne, Morrigan and Natasha saving the day. And this was only the first group. How would it be to enter the werewolves' den? In case they found it, because that seemed not overly secure. Following the traces – saving the wounded dalish hunter Deygan being a very pleasant side effect – was easy enough but now the forest itself seemed to hinder their advance. Again and again they unsuccessful tried to enter the part of the wood where the werewolves' den should be, every time finding them at the edge of the area again.

"Hrrrrm... What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?"

It nearly frightened Iona to death when the tree she leaned again began to move and speak. Quickly finding her confidence again she urged her companions to sheath their weapons and began a long, arduous and very odd conversation with this grand oak.

"So you will help us enter this area? And we retrieve your … acorn, yes?"

Cursing the woods they went on, now looking for a blasted hermit living anywhere in this damned forest to get some stupid acorn for a rhyming tree to enter a dreadful werewolves' den and help the dalish.

"Why can't it be that I ask someone for help and he simply says: yes sure, I promised to help and now I help you? Pas de problem. " Mikhail asked nobody special and no one cared to answer.


	29. Chapter 29 Hunting Parties

**Hunting Parties**

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 14th Afternoon_

"Something I wonder," Morrigan mused while they stumbled thru the brushes in search of the hermit. "These werewolves that attacked us seemed to be savage beasts, nearly out of control in their reactions. They clearly were not able to lay an ambush. That doesn't fit well with the description the dalish gave about the werewolves' attack on the clan."

"You're right," Mikhail agreed. "Perhaps there are two groups, one savage and the other more controlled, perhaps thru this Witherfang we search. About our search for the hermit. We should split up. It's a risk, I know, but otherwise we will be stumbling thru this wood for weeks."

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 15th Late Afternoon, Group Alistair/Leliana/Wynne_

Wynne suppressed her smile, watching as Alistair and Leliana tried hard to be professional in their behavior. Alistair helping her climbing an obstacle, Leliana catching him falling, their hands rested a second longer than necessary.

"What's that?" Alistair pointed to something odd. Between the trees on a lovely place with no one around their stood some tents with inviting blankets in front and romantic campfire in the middle. Closing in cautiously, they detected no signs of the camp's owner, the blanket being fresh and no personal items lying around. "Crazy. As if someone knew that we could use a rest." Leliana sat on one of the blankets and stared in the fire, tired from the last hours. "It's nice her. Come on, sit down." Lying back, she closed her eyes and gave a very pleased sigh. Wynne thought a moment about arguing the wisdom of this but felt her mind so slow and muddy, following Leliana's example at last.

"What are you doing?" Alistair felt tired and sleepy too, but something warned him. His Templar's training perhaps? Something was very wrong here. "Don't be such a spoilsport. Only a minute of rest, please." Leliana drifted away into deep slumber, Wynne only following moments later. Now Alistair was alarmed. He gripped Leliana, shook her wildly, her head flying left-right but her eyes didn't open. "Leliana, wake up." Alistair yelled, his heart gripped by fear.

"I'm so sorry, Lel." He sat her up and began to tickle her, then to pinch and at last to slap. Her cheeks adopted a healthy rosy color from his slaps before she halfway awakened. Relieved he pulled her up, hugged her heartily, and kissed her deeply. Now she was really awake. "Come, we must get away from here." Together they dragged Wynne away from the camp, the sleep causing effect slowly draining away.

Alistair felt a cold shiver down his spine moments before someone or something appeared, a kind of ghost or demon, hissing angrily, following his nearly victim. In terror Alistair lashed out with his Templar's powers, striking the creature relentlessly, tearing it away. Before he could give in to relief, Leliana cried. "What's with Wynne?" The old mage seemed nearly death, her skin ice-cold and white, and her heartbeat barely tangible. "I … I don't know. Mage react negatively to my powers but not in such a degree. Let us go back to the old tree. Perhaps he can help. Or the others when they come back."

Sorrowful they stumbled back, carrying the senseless Wynne.

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 15th Late Afternoon, Group Sten/Zevran/Natasha_

Natasha clenched her fists. They found the hermit and now she hoped it would have been another group having success. Perhaps she had more unnerving moments before but now she could hardly remember one. With relief she left the conversation to Zevran, irritated to the core from listening alone.

"Give me a question and you get a question. But give an answer and you get an answer."

"Let's think about what I could ask. A yes: what's your name?" Natasha was really hard pressed not to throttle the hermit.

"Walther, "Zevran replied with a smile. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"That you insist, but is it true? But you have answered a question, now you may ask me one."

"Have you something to trade? I have this book of elven history."

"A book that would be nice. At least I won't have to use leaves in the bushes for a while. I have these things, a helmet, an acorn …"

"I'll take the acorn."

The acorn and the book changed hands. With a very deep sigh and no further thoughts about her action Natasha didn't waste a second to wait and slew the hermit with a series of spells, a crushing prison followed by two manaclashes. Later she wished she would have lengthened the pain of the blood mage, but in that moment she didn't have the nerve for such things.

"That was unnecessary," Sten stated, "we already had what we were looking for."

"No, you can't imagine how necessary that was. It had been a choice of him or Zevran, someone really had to die after this last hour," Natasha responded with great relief.

"Then I'm thankful that you have chosen this way, "Zevran added.

Natasha bestowed him a thin smile. "Perhaps later you can show me how thankful."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, broadly grinning but not sure if it was meant in earnest or only another flirting joke of the mage. "I would be pleased about the possibility."

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 15th Late Afternoon, Group Mikhail/Iona/Morrigan_

Not knowing that Natasha had found the hermit, Mikhail's group stumbled thru the bushes, cursing about the forest and wishing him back to the snowy mountains of the west.

Suddenly a weeping interrupted his thoughts. It sounded a bit odd, a bit hissing and growling, but seemed to be a noise of despair. Following the sound they found a werewolf looking into a small pond. Mikhail never thought it to be possible a wolf could drop tears, but this creature surely did. Slowly, their weapons sheathed but ready for an ambush, they moved forward. Startled the creature stood up, watched the companions warily. Slowly it neared, stopping as Mikhail raised a hand.

"Pleeeaaase, kill me. " Shocked Mikhail realized that not only a growl emanated from the creature but understandable words, very deep but clearly a female voice. "Please, kill me. I … I don't want to be like this. "

Iona raised her empty hands, slowly neared the creature, pity in her voice. "Who are you? Don't fear us, we won't hurt you."

"I am or better I was a dalish, named Danyla. My husband Athras belongs to the Clan of Zathrian. As the werewolves attacked I was bitten and later I changed … changed into this. I'm barely able to control myself. In some days I will lose myself, attack my former brethren. I can't stand this. I want to die. Please, help me."

Mikhail held his breath as Iona neared Danyla, laid a hand on her shoulder. "I've seen Athras back in the camp. He is alright but he misses you much. Zathrian didn't allow him to search for you. We are here to help you and your clan. Perhaps there is a chance to break the curse."

"No." Danyla wept. "There is no hope. My free mind will falter, changing me into a mindless beast. I can't wait. Give me peace."

Iona shook her head. "I can't do that. Not without at least trying to save you."

Suddenly Danyla lounged forward, toppled Iona to the ground, threatened to bite her shoulder. "Kill me. I'll bite her and bestow the curse on her, if you don't," she demanded from Mikhail.

The warrior reached for his sword, but was stopped by a sign of Iona. Trembling with fear but still not willing to give up, she reached for Danyla, pulled her into an embrace. "Hush, Danyla. You won't bite me and you won't falter. We'll find a way to save you. Think about Athras, how should he live without you? Please give me the chance to save you. I promise you, if I can't find a solution in three days, I'll come back and release you from your pain."

Losing all strength Danyla fell to the ground besides Iona, weeping mercilessly. Mikhail looked down on the beauty and the beast, his expression a mix of fear, anger and a large portion of awe.

_Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 15th Late Evening _

It had been a long evening. Gathering at the grand oak the three hunting groups exchanged their experiences. The oak had been able to help Wynne, the old mage still fighting with her about explaining what happened to her, biding the others to give her some time. In exchange of the acorn the grand oak had been willing to help the companions to cross the magical barrier in the forest and his presence seemed to soothe Danyla. She agreed to wait for Iona at this place.

"Tomorrow we'll enter the werewolves den," Mikhail determined. "Fetch some rest, all of you."


	30. Chapter 30 To give them rest

**To give them rest**

_Elven Ruins in the Brecilian Forest, 9:30, August 16th Early Morning_

"It seems the wood was not strong enough to hold you back. You have intruded too far into our domain. Return to your master, dalish pawns, or we'll kill you." The werewolf had a tan skin, was a hand's breadth taller than his pack mates, more muscular and with a broad collection of scars. As the companions neared the elven ruins, he and his pack had emerged from the surrounding trees, blocking the entrance, barking and menacing but not immediately attacking the group.

Warily Mikhail stepped forward, carefully observing the werewolves. "I'm Mikhail, leader of this group. We're no pawns of the dalish but try to solve this conflict. I don't want to fight you, now that I know that you're not simply beasts but sentient beings with the ability to speak. Please calm down and explain to me why you attacked the elves, why you're so aggressive. Perhaps we can find a peaceful solution."

"No." The werewolf shook his head. "You cannot be trusted. You have elves besides you, you smell of elves. You want to kill Witherfang, to pull his heart out of his chest as the dalish hunters tried. I'm Swiftrunner, leader of this pack. I have no more words for you to offer, only blood and death. Go back."

Calmly Mikhail stood his ground, not reaching for his weapons but clearly not intending to back down. "No. I came to solve this conflict, peaceful if possible, forceful if compelled. Lead me to Witherfang, let me speak with him. This has not to end in bloodshed."

Without a further word Swiftrunner stepped closer, growling dangerously. His gesture was answered by another growl. As Mikhail turned around to soothe Warrick, he was astonished to detect Morrigan as the source of the deep growl. A howl emanated from the ruins, interrupting Mikhail's thoughts and urging the werewolves to retreat. Seconds later the companions were alone again. Ignoring Mikhail's curious glance Morrigan stepped forward and entered the ruins, followed by a grim smiling Natasha.

_Elven Ruins Upper Level, 9:30, August 16th Morning_

"This looks as if it would belong to you, Iona." Carefully Mikhail cleaned the bow in his hands with a piece of cloth, admiring the craftsmanship and beautiful inlays of the masterpiece, the silvery runes harmonizing with the dark red wood. He nearly forgot the fight against the small dragon, the smell in the cave, the corpses of former wood-be-robbers, long dead and only blank bones now. After the fight against the High Dragon in the Frostback Mountains this smaller dragon was not more than a nuisance, Natasha not breaking a sweat using her magic and Sten's sword slicing thru the scales with ease. With a warm smile Mikhail handed the bow to the elven maiden. With trembling hands Iona accepted the elven weapon, tracing the runes with her fingers. "Falon'Din is his name, guide of the dead."

"Here is a tunnel descending down. May we move on? I have enough of the spiders, lizards, rats and other vermin," Morrigan urged. The companions followed her down the tunnel, the air cool and moist. As before no footsteps were to be seen, the werewolves clearly using other ways to enter their den. "I hope this all is not for nothing." Alistair hesitated as they left the tunnel into a new set of hallways, pulled Natasha back as the mage urged forward.

"Something is not right here, something bad is … waiting." Natasha broke his grip with an impatient face. "Yes, yes. Bad mojo. You care for the dangers and i … don't you feel it? Someone is whispering." Her last words were targeted for Morrigan and Wynne, but it was Iona who answered. "Yes, someone is … crying, I would say. It's like a low moan." Natasha nodded, obviously surprised by Iona's answer.

Eager for getting information about this 'someone' Natasha hurried forward, neither stopping as some skeletons got up from the floor nor waiting for Alistair to use his powers. With angry gestures she battered them with her magic against the walls, leaving it to her companions to strike them down. Cursing some very unfriendly words Mikhail tried to destroy their unholy enemies as fast as possible, Natasha's steps already dissolving in the distance. Hastily they followed her, only to be stopped by an angry gesture. Slowly Natasha made circles in a large room, sniffing and listening, searching something. At last she very calmly grabbed something small and shiny, lying on the floor between some rubble. Looking into the black jewel Natasha seemed to be enthralled by the sight, listening to inaudible words.

"Will you help her?" Iona whispered. Natasha turned to the elven maiden, showing a weak smile. "Do you really have to ask? How could I not help a soul in need." Iona only shook her head and smiled thankfully. "An explanation …" Alistair started his question but was interrupted by Natasha "… would be too difficult for you. I only wonder why Morrigan and Wynne don't hear it. They are human female mages as I am." Insecure Iona tried to find an answer. "Perhaps it's because of your special way to use magic." Natasha shrugged. "I have no idea, but your explanation is as good as any other. Let's go. We have to find an altar. A soul wants to be put to rest."

Following the hallways they encountered more and more groups of skeletons. The fights were mostly harmless, but wore down Natasha's already strained nerves. There. Hastily she chose her way, holding in front of a small pond. She scrutinized the pond and a small altar near a stone door, pointing to Iona. "Your turn, milady. Seems to be something elfish again. I've seen these signs on the stone guardians in the dalish camp." Iona nodded. "Yes, this altar is sanctified to our ancestors. But i have no idea what to do. A pond, water, a clay jar …" Natasha shoved her forward. "Surely it's not so difficult. Follow your heart, simply as that."

In spite of her words the mage followed Iona's actions tensely, as the elven maiden scooped water with the jar, laid it on the altar, took a sip of water after a short prayer. As Iona poured the water back into the pond, the jar broke into dozens of pieces. With some loud grating the door opened. "You see, it's simple." Her deep sigh revealed Natasha's relief.

Reluctantly the mage entered the hall behind the doors. A thick blanket of dust covered the floor. Nobody had disturbed this sacred room for hundreds of years. Angry moans suffused the hall, fading a bit as Iona pressed her companions to stall at the entrance while only Natasha entered, slowly crossing the mosaic showing a battle between elves and humans to reach an altar fashioned out of white marble.

Pulling out the dark crystal she listened to someone unseen, whispering some answers. "You don't have to ... I will help you without … than I thank you. I will find a way to help your folk." As she put the crystal on the altar a blue-white light emanated from it, encircled the altar, then Natasha and at last the whole room. The mage's face showed an expression never seen before in this intensity: peace, as if Natasha was really content with her doings, her live and her soul. The light dimmed, circled back into the crystal, and slowly faded completely, leaving Natasha alone. Long minutes the mage stood still, having difficulty to find back to reality. At last she nodded a last time to the crystal, very slowly turning back to her companions. "She has found her rest," Iona declared softly. Natasha only nodded with a warm smile.

Following the next hallway Natasha entered a small room with a single sarcophagus. "Sten, open it, please. She allowed it. But don't touch anything inside and close it after it took what I'm allowed to grab." The Qunari followed her advice. In the sarcophagus were the remains of a long dead elven woman, clad into chainmail and a silvery breastplate. With as much dignity as possible Natasha took the armor and laid back every single bone. Begging Iona to say a prayer, she gave Sten a sign to close the sarcophagus again.

As Natasha carefully wrapped the armor in some clothes and packed it in her backpack, Alistair curiously questioned: "What do you want to do with that armor?" The firm answer astonished him no more than Wynne and Morrigan. "Wear it, what else?"

_Comment: I always thought it to be ridiculous that the armor sets are distributed in several places. So this is my explanation of how Natasha got her Arcane Warrior teaching and the fitting elven armor set. _


	31. Chapter 31 Mother Nature

**Mother Nature**

_Elven Ruins Upper Level, 9:30, August 16th Midmorning_

It had been surprisingly easy to reach the lowest tier of hallways in the ruins. None of the skeletons lying on the floor they passed rose up. It seemed as if Natasha's action convinced the elven spirits that the companions meant no harm to them.

But now another danger waited. Smell grew thicker by the step, a mix of wet dog, excrements and rotting flesh. The footsteps in the dust on the floor showed clearly that now they intruded the werewolves den at last. Mikhail and Zevran at the front, Alistair and Sten at the rear, the men shielding their female companions against surprise attack. More than once Zevran stopped the group to disable some traps.

"Ambush," Zevran's warning gave them two heartbeats time before werewolves attacked from all sides. More than a dozen fury shapes charged into the companions, tried to throw them on the ground, most often pairing to tackle a companion with sheer weight and strength. The whirling tangle of bodies didn't allow Leliana and Iona to make use of their bows and prevented the magi from casting area spells. Mikhail tried his best to hinder the werewolves from attacking the women and gave Zevran the opportunity to backstab his enemies. At the rear Sten leapt into the largest group of enemies freely whirling his greatsword around, slicing fur, cutting flesh and breaking bones.

The fight went not as bad as feared and Natasha had a good moment shackling Swiftrunner with her prison spell, as a dark tanned werewolf avoided Sten, charged past Alistair and jumped on Morrigan's back, tackling the far lighter woman to the ground. With horror Iona jumped to her aid, tried to pull the werewolf away in vain, watching as he took a deep bite into the witches' shoulder and neck, dropping saliva in the wound. Having no good target for a spell Natasha charged in, her spear-staff glowing, and gave the werewolf a powerful smack on head and back, breaking many bones with her unexpected strength. Instantly the creature slumped to the ground, but it was too late, Morrigan instantly feeling 'something' running thru her veins.

Natasha saw this knowledge in Morrigan's eyes and something snapped in her in this moment, broke the grip of her mind on her body and allowed something far for primal to rule.

Sending a bloodcurdling cry into the darkness Natasha took on a grimace of rage and pain, whirled back and forth clubbing werewolves to death, shoving her companions aside to get near more enemies. The werewolves stopped their attack, even the companions were shocked by this outrage, astonished by the sheer strength of her physical attacks. As three of the werewolves tried to escape the onslaught, Natasha erected a field of force magic to block their path, jumped between them and killed one by one, ignoring that more and more blood trickled from her mouth, nose and ears, clear signs of Natasha burning her essence to fuel her power.

Crying her victory the mage turned around, searching for more victims of her killing spree. It was only after a sign of Iona and a powerful smack of Sten with the broadside of his sword to her head that she went down, stopping her fight and preventing her from killing herself in the process. In the moment of her blackout the prison spell ended and Swiftrunner used the chance to escape with the poor rest of his pack.

_Elven Ruins Werewolves' Den, 9:30, August 16th Midday_

Wynne's face showed concern. "I fear Morrigan got the curse from that bite. And Natasha … she needs some rest. Not that she really would agree to my opinion." The elder mage looked to Natasha, the younger mage caring for Morrigan since waking up. Her moves were a bit slow and insecure thanks to her headache and all around very weak composure, but obviously the harm done to Morrigan concerned her far more than her own health. "Perhaps we should go back and …"

"No." Iona interrupted. "We've come so far, perhaps this is the best try we can get."

"She's right." Natasha agreed with bitter exhaustion, mentally and physically, in her voice. "We'll go on. Perhaps now the werewolves agree to speak and avoid further fighting."

"You don't want to fight us?" The companions whirled around as Swiftrunner's hulking frame silently emerged from the shadows.

With a very sad face Natasha responded. "No, I have enough, enough of this bloodshed on both sides. I only want to solve this conflict, to end this curse. Don't misunderstand this as weakness. If it is necessary to kill Witherfang, you and the other werewolves to save my sister from this curse, I will do it. With regret later but without compassion now, I would not stop to listen for nice words or bitter tears. But if it is at all possible to find a better solution, I'll give it a try. But I can't do it all alone, you have to help me, Swiftrunner, help me save my people and your people."

Natasha stood up, walked over to Swiftrunner. "Lead us to Witherfang, Swiftrunner. Let us end this fight." A long silence followed as Swiftrunner scrutinized Natasha and her companions, nodding at last. "Follow me, but only you and your pack leader." Mikhail agreed and without further words the two wardens went deeper into the den, feeling the angry stares of hidden werewolves at every step.

"Please try to stay calm and trust me, Natasha," Mikhail whispered. "Let me speak with Witherfang."

Natasha pressed a smile. "I always trust you, Mikhail. You're the leader, you know? Only sometimes I … forget to use my brain, that's all." Mikhail answered with a thin smile.

_Elven Ruins Center of the Werewolves' Den, 9:30, August 16th Midday_

A very large hall more resembling a cave than something made from elven hands, thick roots breaking the walls and ceiling, a pond of water. A great number of werewolves waited for them, only Swiftrunner's presence preventing an attack. And then there was something other, a feeling … a feeling of peace and calm. It emanated from something or better from someone now stepping forward, a graceful shape, a mixture of beautiful woman and plants, green skin entwined with roots, a mass of dark green hair and large black eyes deep as a lake at midnight.

"I am the Lady of the Forest. I greet you, strangers, and hope that we can end the fighting." Her voice was like leaves rustling in the wind or like water rushing down a creek, soft and strong, peaceful but with power behind.

Mikhail stepped forward. "I greet thee, Lady of the Forest. We hope too to solve this conflict peacefully. More than enough lives had been ended before their time. As we entered your domain, sent to kill Witherfang on Zathrian's command, we anticipated to meet only vicious beasts without speech. But we learned that this was a mistake, the werewolves being sentient creatures with Swiftrunner a powerful leader who tried to avoid battles as long as possible. I am very sorry that it had not been possible to speak to you earlier and avoid bloodshed."

"We couldn't simply trust you." Swiftrunner stepped forward. "It could have been a trap to kill Witherfang. But your behavior, your words of peace and your … stormy companion …" for a moment Mikhail saw something like a thin smile on Swiftrunner's mouth as he stared at Natasha "… convinced me to at least try a peaceful solution, as my Lady would wish. "

The Lady of the Forest gently touched Swiftrunner's arm. "Indeed and perhaps it is time to explain something Zathrian surely held back. You have to know that Zathrian had been the source of this curse. In his youth, some hundred years ago, a terrible crime was done, robbing him of his family. So great was his sorrow, that he performed a dark ritual. He bound a spirit to the body of a wolf, sending the beast to attack the humans who committed the crime, changing them into werewolves. The original culprits are long dead but Zathrian is still full of hate. Every time his clan entered the forest we tried to end the conflict, but every time he didn't want to hear."

Swiftrunner interrupted her. "But this time we attacked the elves. Now his hunters bear the same curse. He has to break it or his people will suffer the consequences."

"So does my sister now. With Zathrian being the source of this curse," Natasha pondered, "it would be the surest way to end it by killing him." The mage ignored Mikhail's holding breath and deep frown. "We would have to kill the other elves too, if fear, because they will rush to his defense, but it should be possible if we help you. It would end the curse, free your people and save my sister. What do you mean?" Natasha's face showed no emotion as she ignored the Lady and targeted her question for Swiftrunner.

Swiftrunner's chest heaved heavily as he took some deep breaths. "My heart would like that. His curse killed so many of my brethren caused so much pain. All my emotions cry revenge. But such a fight would cost many more lives, elven and of my pack. I hope the Lady has a better idea. Even the Dalish have a right to live. I only want to end this all."

The Lady of the forest showed a deep and warm smile, seemingly content with his answer. "I beg you to bring Zathrian to me. I want to speak with him, persuade him to lift the curse. Perhaps he and I have to die as we are the center of the curse, but that would be a small price for the peace."

"I'll try to persuade him." Mikhail agreed, relieved to have a solution without bloodshed. "I'll try my very best."

As Mikhail and Natasha left the hall, the Lady stopped Natasha a last time. "If we had agreed with your solution, agreed to kill all elves, what would you have done?"

Showing no emotions but her calm voice not leaving a doubt about her earnest Natasha answered: "Naturally I would have killed Swiftrunner, killed you and as many werewolves as possible. Agreeing to my plan would have proven that your folk are what Zathrian wants you to be: rabid killers."

"But I could have lied to you," countered Swiftrunner.

Slowly Natasha went to him, laid a hand on his chest above his heart. "You're vicious and perhaps you're more beast than man. But in your chest beats the heart of a warrior. You would not lie to me."


	32. Chapter 32 Days of Peace

**Days of Peace**

_Dalish Camp, 9:30, August 21st Evening_

"We will honor the treaty. Call and the Dalish will come to your aid." Lanaya's words were spoken with dignity, not revealing the grief she felt about Zathrian's death.

Iona thought about the events of the last days. Mikhail had made his words true, convinced Zathrian to speak with the Lady of the Forest. The parley changed to a fight, the fight ended in Zathrian's surrender and many tears on both sides about the deaths and sorrow of past years. And although she resented Zathrian's original deed to cast the curse, Iona thought highly about his end, his sacrifice to end the curse and save both the werewolves and his own clan. She felt only sorrow that the Lady of the Forest had to die too. Now the werewolves had to prove that they were able to live without her guidance.

Her eyes wandered to Athras and Danyla, tears trickling down her cheeks. As she had hoped the end of the curse saved the young dalish huntress too. The joy of Athras and Danyla had been worth any risk she took. Gently her hand stroked down her leather jerkin. It was a gift of Danyla and wearing it made Iona feel a bit as a Dalish herself. But she remembered what Zevran had told her about his dalish mother, his short time with the clan. They all were elves, but the difference was great nonetheless.

Thinking about differences her thoughts wandered to the remaining werewolves, now human again. Under Swiftrunner's guidance they departed for Redcliffe, a letter from Alistair in their hand, hoping to find a new home under the villagers, human but not the same human. Only time would tell if they could really leave their past behind.

Later the companions gathered at the camp fire, Mikhail speaking about the next destination.

"Normally I would suggest that we go to Redcliffe, inform Arl Eamon about our success and depart for Ozrammar, our last potential ally. But … we have some reasons to make a side-trip to Denerim too. It's not so far away from here and some of us …"

With surprise he stared at Natasha interrupting his speech. "I say we go to Redcliffe and Ozrammar and make no side-trip. The risk is too great that we run into some problems with Loghain's vassals."

"I know the risks but I promised Iona …" Mikhail frowned deeply as Natasha interrupted him anew.

"Especially your promise to Iona is a reason NOT to go to Denerim now. How long has your daughter not seen you, Iona? Three months, four? Write her a letter if you wish, but don't visit her. She would be heartbroken if you show up only to leave again."

"Why should she leave? That doesn't make sense to me. Iona could stay in Denerim. She had done more than enough; it is time for her to live some normal live with her daughter again."

Natasha gave a deep sigh. "Yes, she had done more than enough, but there is much more to do for her. We can't spare her, we need her." The mage was the center of more than one suspicious glare, but she didn't react on that, seemed sure in her opinion.

"Need her? Sure, she helped us more than once, but …" Mikhail was a bit shaken, unsure in his emotions to have Iona around or grant her return to Denerim and a normal life.

Natasha smirked in his direction. "Surely not especially you would argue that? She had saved your life twice, both times risking her own. And how often had it been her realistic point of view which showed the right path? Sorry, Iona, but no Denerim for you now. You have to wait until were done with Ozrammar. End of discussion."

_Dalish Camp, 9:30, August 21st Late Evening_

All was quiet at the camp, most of the companions asleep. Only Natasha, Iona and Zevran were awake. The elven maiden had tried to speak with Natasha the whole evening, but always someone was near. Taking heart Iona linked arms with the mage, signed Zevran to stay back and dragged her some steps away.

"I … I wanted to thank you for your words."

"You don't have to thank me, Iona. It would be more realistic to resent my opinion. The future could well mean some more very unpleasant events. Thinking about our adventures in the Frostback Mountains I don't think that Ozrammar will be very pleasant."

"I know. But … you know I really want to see my daughter again. But on the other hand I would never be able to leave her again. Not for Ferelden, not for you, not for …"

"… Mikhail? I think you could. Your feelings for him are stronger than you want to admit. But you would hate it after a time. Every night you would see the eyes of your daughter. And the next weeks with him will not be easy. I'm really not sure that I've done you a favor. I really hope it, but I fear … But I have something to soothe my doubts. I meant what I said. Believe it or not but I trust your point of view in many things. You will need some time to be an archer like Leliana and you will never equal Zevran in fighting prowess, but never doubt your part in our success."

Iona gave a weak smile. "I hope I won't disappoint you."

"You never will." The assurance in Natasha's voice succeeded in relieving Iona.

"Natasha, I have some other question. I don't know … perhaps it is too personal." Iona hesitated.

"Go on. I won't pluck your head from your shoulders. If it is too personal I'll say so."

"A few days ago as you spoke with Swiftrunner, you called Morrigan your sister. And I remember how you called her Siha sometimes. Does Siha mean sister in Chasind?"

Natasha gulped, thought a while about the question. "That is a very personal question, Iona. But … not too personal, not asked from you at least. Siha, it means sister, yes, but a special one. In larger families the oldest girl is called Siha. She is the 'great sister', the protector of her siblings, stepping into the place of the mother in case she is not available, sick or dead."

Iona asked slowly and solemn: "And that is how you see her, as your elder sister, your protector?"

Natasha smiled weakly: "Sometimes, yes. I trust her, even more than I trust you or Sten. Trust more than I could explain with sheer logic. She is the anchor in my stormy moments, preventing me from losing ground in my wilder emotions."

Iona stared intensely at Natasha, asked with a low voice. "You love her, don't you?"

Natasha's face turned to stone. "That's too personal a question, even for you."

_Dalish Camp, 9:30, August 21st Midnight_

With Iona asleep Natasha left the camp, now sitting with her back against a tree, staring into the darkness, her fingers tracing the runes and decorations of the elven breastplate. Zevran had been watching her a long time, collecting his courage, before he stepped beside her, walking openly to avoid any nervous reactions.

"May I sit down, my lovely grey warden?"

Natasha didn't look up. "Sure. I'm astonished you waited so long."

Zevran wasn't sure if she had seen him waiting or only meant the last days in the dalish camp.

"You see, I'm really thankful that you killed the hermit and not me. You said something interesting then …"

Natasha interrupted him impatiently. "Yes, yes. Coming to the point I said you could show your gratitude later. To be honest, I never understood why you're flirting with me while such beauties as Morrigan, Leliana and Iona are around. But … I'm in need of your very special talents, if and only if they are as special as you declare."

Taken aback by her frankness Zevran needed a few moments to find an answer. "Be secure that they are. But I never thought that you … I sensed some emotions between you and …"

Natasha's glare stopped him. "That's not your business. And I don't want to speak about emotions, relationships or similar things. I only want to speak about a night of bodily passion. If that's too direct for you, I misjudged you and we should end this discussion now."

Under her open and harsh words Zevran felt the mage's insecurity. He gripped her arm and softly held her down as the mage started to stay up. "No. I only wanted to say that I didn't expect that from you. Yes, you're not what men would call a beauty. You're more like a stormy night, waves of salty water crushing against the stony coast, an avalanche carrying away all what lay in its path. It is not your body but your spirit that makes you attractive for me. I would like to spend a night with you if that is your wish."

Struggling with herself Natasha needed some moments to answer. With a trembling voice she spoke of her first time with a man, how he raped her with body and magic, created feelings and pleasures in her she could even feel now in spite of the years between.

"It is difficult to explain. I … I want to spent a night with you to forget this other time, to have a pleasant experience of it. This nightmare stood between me and others all the time. The feelings had been very strong thru his use of blood magic. Although I hated him, my body could not deny the pleasures. I always feared that it would be … less … with a loved one. What if I spend a night with a loved one someday and it feels trivial in comparison? I really don't know what I fear more: that my … object of desire … refuses to spend a night with me or that she does and it …" Natasha's voice trembled, her words trickled away into the darkness.

Zevran hesitated, tried to speak as passionately as he could. "I'm very touched that you trusted me with these thoughts and feelings. And I think I understand what you mean. It is not the reason I hoped for, but I will try my very best to accomplish it, to make you forget that experience. If you agree I will prepare all while we stay in Redcliffe. A comfortable room will be better than this openness I think."

Natasha sighed deeply. "I agree. Thank you, Zevran."


	33. Chapter 33 Till Death us part

**Till Death us part**

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, August 28th Evening_

"Thank you, Sten." Natasha's words brought an expression of surprise on the normally unreadable face of the Qunari. "Thank you for escorting me and not asking questions."

Sten made a solemn nod. A few days ago he had agreed to accompany the mage, after she spoke with Mikhail about her wish to settle something in the circle of magi, following the group to Redcliffe Castle afterwards. It had only been hours after their departure to be clear for him that she had some over destination in mind. Every evening she donned her new elven armor and trained with him in physical combat. Not allowing his face to show it, he really felt impressed by her new power. He could not understand what really had happened in the ruins but she was now able to muster a strength which nearly equaled his own. And every evening she got stronger.

"I think it is time to reveal my intention. I don't need you for escorting me thru the wilderness, but as a witness and perhaps as a … messenger. Tomorrow we will reach the hut of a very unusual woman, called Flemeth. Perhaps you heard about her being called the witch of the wilds. She is Morrigan's mother and for reasons I have no intention to explain or argue about I want to fight and kill her. You will be no part of this fight. I demand your promise to not interfere. You will stand aside and only watch. Should I win, you'll help me collect her books and deliver them to Morrigan. Flemeth we will burn in her hut with as much dignity as possible. She once rescued me and even with this done for dishonorable reasons the deed itself is enough that she deserves an honorable death. If I lose you will not attack her. Take my body to Lake Calenhad and bury me there, give my staff to Wynne. You are not here as a warrior but as a friend I trust, do you understand this clearly, Sten?"

Sten looked back with a stony face. "I understand. I will do as you command." As they went to sleep, his mind wandered back to the camp, back to Iona. The elven maiden had spoken to him before he departed. "She had been lying to Mikhail. I don't know what she wants to do, but I fear it is something real stupid or real dangerous, perhaps both. Her eyes … she doesn't expect to come back. Please, Sten, protect her, I beg you." He had promised it. He would hold his word.

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, August 29th Midmorning_

Natasha wasn't surprised to find Flemeth waiting on a small hill near her hut. Surely the witch had been aware of the mage's approach since hours. She granted Sten a last nod and a thin smile. No more words were necessary. Slowly she approached the witch, staff firmly gripped, a wide robe over her armor.

"At last the child found someone to do her dirty work, I see. But shouldn't you bring your friends along? "

Natasha shook her head. "No, it is between you and me. Sten is only her as a witness and to bury whoever gets killed. Once you saved me. I owe you a fair fight, not some swarming and tackling you down."

Flemeth studied her intensely, seemingly a bit impressed by Natasha's resoluteness and amused by her audacity. "You don't have to fight me, you know? This all could end peacefully."

"No. I promised Morrigan to help her. Letting you leave would not solve this problem. One of us has to die now. Are you ready to begin or do you need some time to prepare? "

Flemeth pressed a smile which didn't reach her eyes. "I'm ready as I hope you are too."

Revealing her intent only with some small gestures Flemeth began to change form. Natasha who had anticipated something similar didn't wait but lashed out with a powerful force wave, tumbling Flemeth down without hurting or interrupting her much. As she assumed the form of a dragon Natasha followed swiftly with a crushing spell – which the witch shrugged of easily – and a manaclash. Stunned for a few seconds Flemeth could do nothing to evade the further onslaught, powerful lightning spells caressing her flanks.

Angry the dragon reared up, let out a fierce roaring followed by a terrible gush of flames encircling Natasha. Instead of evading the attack the mage protected her body with a magical shield, ignored the pain and countered with a magical lance directed at the dragon's open mouth. Shrieks of pain emanated from Flemeth, crushing down on the ground, shaking her head to suppress the pain.

Ignoring the red spots before her eyes Natasha used her remaining power to chain a number of spells, some hurting, some stunning. Trembling for exhaustion fear began to dwell in her chest. She had used her mightiest spells and Flemeth was only marginally wounded, more angered than hurt.

Finally shaking of the stunning effects of Natasha's spells the dragon started to trudge in the mage's direction, holding her mouth shut eyes full of rage. Natasha staggered in exhaustion, leaving Sten to decide between following Natasha's orders and holding his word to Iona. Taking two steps forward he stopped as Natasha signaled him so. Her next spells were comparatively weak and bad targeted, only wounding the dragon's wings a bit and scorching the scales around the nose.

Enhancing its speed the dragon charged the mage and clawed at her. Natasha mostly evaded the attack with a swift move, one of the claws tearing the robe away and scratching over her shoulder plate. Instead of countering with a new spell she charged forward, went for the hind leg and made a vicious slash with her staff-blade. Pulling all her might she cut scales, muscles and sinew, running behind the dragon which roared in unexpected pain, tried to turn around, his leg unable to hold the weight. For a moment hope reared its head then the dragon's tail lashed out, hitting Natasha with full force, breaking rips and sending her fly away a score of yards. Without the swamp cushioning her fall she would have died in that moment, but even so she was hurt seriously.

With a malign smile Flemeth turned around, walked after Natasha in anticipation of biting her in halves. Then she opened her mouth, but not in joy. Pain shot thru her body as Sten charged her back, slashed at the unwounded hind leg, stabbed in her stomach. Unable to face the new enemy Flemeth tried to hit Sten with her tail and wings, the Qunari evaded the attacks with surprising agility. As one of her fore legs accidently nearly stomped on Natasha's breast, the mage collected her remaining power and stabbed into Flemeth's belly, plunging the full two feet of blade between the softer scales of the underside, then cutting forward thru flesh and organs, her own arm muscles and sinews tearing apart from the strain.

Nothing was left in Natasha as Flemeth swung back and forth over her in her death struggle. Pain unknown in this intensity rushed thru her body as Sten grabbed her wounded arms and pulled her away only moments before the dragon collapsed to the ground, the crushing noise the last thing heard from Natasha before all went black.


	34. Chapter 34 Wonderful News

**Wonderful News**

_Road to Redcliffe, 9:30, August 29th Midday_

_What in maker's name was going on_, Mikhail pondered. The last days he noticed an increasing unrest in Iona's and Morrigan's behavior. The discussions with the dalish had been going well, the voyage in direction of Redcliffe had been uneventful so far. What troubled these two ladies? At the midday rest he used some spare moments to ask.

"It is because of Natasha. Mikhail, you said she wanted to visit the Magi, but are you sure about it?"

Mikhail frowned at the elven maiden. "Sure? Why not? She didn't explain the details, but …" His face paled. "She lied? I … felt a bit unsecure, but yes, she seemed a bit … what do you know about her real purpose? "

Iona shook her head sadly. "To my regret I know nothing. I only … she seemed unhappy when she left. As if she had something difficult in mind. And then … she took Sten with her, especially Sten. Do you know why him? I would guess she chose him because he is the only one from us who would not … discuss things with her. If she planned something dangerous Alistair or you would argue with her about it, perhaps even hinder her, but not Sten"

Morrigan went very pale, her hands trembled, and concern was visible in her eyes Mikhail didn't think to be possible with the witch. Her words came haltingly. "Do you really think? I … I hoped she would not … Mikhail, I fear I've done something royally stupid." The witty remarks Alistair and Zevran wanted to start were cut short by a sharp hand-move of Iona. "Morrigan, please, what's going on?"

Haltingly the Witch explained how she got information about her mother's longevity, the danger for her own life, and how she begged Natasha to help her. "I begged her to wait, to attack her with help from us all … us all without me as it has to be in this case. I never thought she would try it alone. She can't win alone, she must know. Why did she …" Morrigan's voice died down.

"She didn't want to endanger us all." Mikhail assumed, trying hard to remain calm. "She has two days of headstart at least. Never can we be there in time to help. And if she won and is on the way to Redcliffe … the chances are great that we would miss her in the wilderness. I really don't like the idea but we have to go on and wait in Redcliffe for news. "

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, August 30th Morning_

I had been a restless night for Sten. After searching for Flemeth's books and burning her corpse as Natasha said, he dragged the senseless mage a few miles away before he set up camp. Her life signals were very low, breath and heartbeat nearly not noticeable, her skin cold as ice. Sten tended her wounds and wrapped her into some blankets. Now she seemed to be stabilized at least but still very weak.

A twig snapped. Sten's move to pull his sword was stopped by an arrow to the ground near his feet. Slowly a dozen men and women emerged from the woods, Chasind.

"Who are you? What are you doing in our woods?" One of them asked, remaining out of the Qunari's weapon reach.

Calm and without signs of fear Sten answered." I'm Sten of the Beresaad and bodyguard of Natasha, a grey warden. She had been wounded seriously in a battle against a witch and I'm waiting for her to recover. When she feels better, we will leave your domain."

One of the foreigners stepped forward, pushed back his cowl and stared intensely at the Qunari. For a moment Sten thought him to be Mikhail, but then he realized this man was older, his face a bit narrower, the frame less muscular. Seeing the recognition in Sten's eyes, he asked cautiously: "Do you know me?"

"Perhaps I do. You remind me of someone I travel with. His name is Mikhail."

"Mikhail? You know Mikhail? And he lives? Where is he?" His voice spun over in excitement, his hands signaled his companions to lower their bows.

"He is the leader of our group. We left him three days before. Now he should be on his way to Redcliffe. You're a relative of him I suppose by your face."

"Yes, I'm Fergus Cousland, his older brother. I've not seen him since months, thought him to be dead as the rest of our family." His voice dying down for a moment, Fergus tried to steady himself. "But he lives. That's … Sten of the Beresaad, you delivered me wonderful news. Can we help you in any way?"

"Do you have a healer?"

_Redcliffe, 9:30, Kingsway 6th Afternoon_

With the help of the Chasind carrying Natasha's stretcher the way to Redcliffe went far better than Sten had hoped. Their young shaman had been able to tend her bodily wounds but her weak condition hadn't improved. Fergus sent a messenger ahead to inform Mikhail and Sten could only hope that Wynne would be able to do more for the mage.

The meeting, joyful as the embrace of the brothers was, was overshadowed by the concern about Natasha's condition. Sten handed Morrigan her mother's books waiting for a sign of content, but she stored the books away mostly unheeded, pressed only a short thanks before following Wynne.

"She is really concerned about her," Alistair wondered.

"She should be," Mikhail pressed.


	35. Chapter 35 Future Plans

**Future Plans**

_Redcliffe, 9:30, Kingsway 6th Evening_

"Scouting the fringes of the battlefield I met the members of a chasind clan fighting against a group of darkspawn. We rushed to help and won the fight, but most of my men were killed, I was wounded. They carried me to their clan's camp and recuperating from my wounds I missed the main battle. Since then I tried to gather the chasind clans and hold off the lesser darkspawn groups in the wilderness. Against the main horde we wouldn't stand a chance alone. But if you're building an army we will be there to help. The Chasind don't want to fight but they know: if the fereldan army is defeated, their land will be destroyed too in the long run."

Mikhail had been discussing with his elder brother the whole evening, making plans about coming battles. It seemed very naturally that he assumed the rule of leader even over his brother, but he felt better and more secure with Fergus back from the dead. They tried to avoid speaking about their parents and Fergus family, focusing their thoughts on the future.

"Arl Eamon is the center of our army gathering, to him our allies from the mages, Templars and Dalish report. You should establish a messenger between him and your Chasind. I'll go with my friends to Ozrammar as soon as Natasha is back to health."

Fergus asked a bit doubting: "Are you sure she will recover? Her condition is very weak. The battle against the witch of the wild must have been furious. My people speak in awe of her. Battling her with only a single swordsman as support …"

"She'll be well. Morrigan will do all what is needed to save her; I have no doubt about that." It had been the first time since Fergus arrival that Iona broke her bad mood and participated in the conversation. As Fergus looked quizzical to his younger brother, Mikhail only shrugged: "Natasha is an extremely strong willed woman. I doubt that she would succumb so easy." As Iona left to ask Wynne about Natasha's condition, Mikhail added: "And Iona is sure about it."

Smiling Fergus noted: "You seem to value her opinion highly. Do I hear some …?"

With a sad face Mikhail interrupted his brother: "No, you know it can't be. Only we two survived. Someday you will be Teyrn of Highever. As long as you don't have a new wife and children … sorry, Fergus, I know it is hard and I really would like to forget about that all, but too many people depend on us. We can't let our people in the clutches of men like Howe. So it will be you as a Teyrn, wedding someone fast, securing the family line. And I will be the … backup plan. Mikhail pressed an uneasy smile."

"By the way Iona has another plan for my future, a plan that makes me nervous and has no place for her in it. But it would be a way to help all people including her own." Mikhail hesitated a moment before he went on. "Iona suggested that not Alistair should become king but me, marrying Anora to gather the support of all Banns."

Mikhail looked at his brother, waiting for Fergus to burst into laughter, but he remained unsmiling. "A good idea, the best I heard for a long time. You would be a great king. And Anora is an accomplished administrator. It would be a very suitable pairing. Mikhail, you have the support of the Teyrn of Highever in this claim." Shortly a smile passed Fergus face, getting sad very fast. "But I regret that Iona … you love her, don't you?" Inquiring Mikhail's face, he waved his hand. "Sorry, forget the stupid question." Fergus sighed deeply. "Father would be proud." As Mikhail left, Fergus added very low: "And mother would club you for your foolishness."

_Redcliffe, 9:30, Kingsway 6th Late Evening_

"You want WHAT from me?" Zevran looked at Morrigan, obviously doubting her sanity.

The witch had been at Natasha's room for hours, the last preparing something she now presented to Zevran. "Wynne is not able to bring her back. She burned too much of her soul to reach victory. If we do nothing she will die within days. I prepared this salve for her, but I need you for the medicine to take full effect. "

"Let me repeat: You want me to grease Natasha with this salve. And then I'm to sleep with her while she is still unconsciousness? Apart from her not feeling what I do and forgetting that I don't really get much joy from something like that: do you have a clue what she'll do with me after waking up?"

Morrigan waved Zevran's arguments off. "It is needed. The salve will reinforce the feeling, changing the body heat to inner strength. You can be sure she won't be like a log in the … event. It is old chasind magic. It will save her, only that matters."

"She will never forgive me doing this. And why didn't you chose Alistair or Mikhail? Why not you?"

"You're the most … trained in these things. Alistair and Mikhail would be terrible I fear. And I … I lack the … err … proper parts, you know. And what is more important, her opinion about that all or her life? By the way she allowed you to sleep with her."

Zevran smiled. "You pried about her. You little minx are jealous."

"Don't be a fool. We feel like … like sisters. That's all. Now, will you do what is necessary or not?"

Zevran smirked. "Sisters, sure. But alright, I'll do it. But it will be your duty to hold off Wynne."

After stating what he had to do, Morrigan went to the door, hesitated and walked back to Natasha, leaned over her pressing a kiss on her forehead, gently plucking a strand of hair out of her face and left the room without looking back.

Sighing Zevran looked down on the unconsciousness mage. "I doubt you anticipated our night to be like this. I hope you'll allow me to repeat it someday."


	36. Chapter 36 Thankful Friends

**Thankful Friends**

_From Redcliffe to Ozrammar, 9:30, Kingsway 17th Evening_

The last three days had been exhausting for Natasha, Mikhail could see it. Two days after arriving at Redcliffe Castle the mage had awakened, thanks to something Morrigan had done. While Wynne had been troubled about the exact nature of the curing, for the other companions it had only been open joy to see the 'storm-witch' under the living again. The following days the companions had to reason with an increasingly restless mage, Natasha wishing to lose no more time and Mikhail wanting to give her some additional rest. He had hoped to wait a few days more, but at the end Natasha nearly had to be bound to the bed to hold her there. So they started their journey to Ozrammar, the mage recuperating from her illness and trying hard to not slow down the group.

Fergus had established a messenger route between Redcliffe and his Chasind camp before returning to 'his' people. How long would it be before he saw him again?

"Sten? I'm thankful that you helped me with Flemeth. Surely without you I would have died. But didn't you promise to stand back?"

"Yes, I did. But before we left the camp, Iona demanded another promise from me. That I protect you from whatever dangerous plan you have in mind."

"She is very insightful at times, isn't she?" Natasha smiled.

"Yes, she is not as shallow as others. And apart from her wish I would have helped you anyhow. Your life is worth more than a broken word. For Mikhail, I mean."

"I never would assume otherwise."

_From Redcliffe to Ozrammar, 9:30, Kingsway 17th Late Evening_

The camp had gone quiet. With Alistair standing watch, Morrigan and Natasha now had some time to speak. Both were a bit uneasy and more than once one of the women started to talk, only to stop immediately. At last Morrigan broke the silence.

"There is a story I wanted to tell you since Lothering. It is not very important but … you'll see. Living in the wilderness had been a bit lonely sometimes, so I left from time to time to visit the humans around, see how they live. On one of my trips I met your cousin Tamara as you know. On another … I met a girl. She wore a dress sewn from good but old and worn cloth and simple shoes. All in all she was nothing special apart from her stance. She behaved like a noblewoman, waving her hand here and nodding there to an unseen audience. From time to time she looked into a mirror like I've never seen before: Crafted from gold, with red jewels all around, a large one sitting at the pommel, the rear side adorned with the picture of a charging stag."

"I followed her around, watching her doing, adoring this mirror. I never had something like that or something valuable altogether. After a while someone called her, her mother I think. She hid the mirror in a hollow tree stump and followed the call. I crept to the stump and fetched the mirror. At first I only wanted to look into it. Never had I seen myself in such clarity. From minute to minute I wanted more to keep the mirror and at last … I stole it."

"For a few days I was happy, pushing away any thoughts about the girl, relishing in the use of the mirror. Then Flemeth fetched me with it. She was … furious, because I endangered myself with my trips to the village. She wanted to teach me a lesson and smashed the mirror on the floor. I was heartbroken. But I learned the lesson. It made me stronger. Beauty and earthly belongings are fleeting."

Staying quiet for some time, Morrigan pulled out Flemeth's Grimoire at last. "This is not fleeting, neither the book nor your deed in fetching the book. You've pulled me some time, years I hope, to prepare. Flemeth will be back someday, but now I have at least a chance to protect myself. I can't really express my gratitude."

With a solemn face Natasha responded. "I'm happy that I was able to help you. And you have already paid back in saving me, even if I have to discuss the circumstances with Zevran someday." A grim smile crossed her lips.

"Don't hurt him too much, Natasha. He's really trashable from time to time, but that night he had been … useful. And someone had to do the task. You surely hadn't preferred Mikhail or even Alistair."

"No, he had been the best choice … among the men."

Fighting with their emotions it was Morrigan to break the new silence. "As we met first time, as Flemeth ordered me to accompany Mikhail and you … I never expected that it would end this way. You know that I see emotions as a weakness, be it friendship or … love. Emotions induced you to fight my mother, risk your life to help me. But I start to see you as a friend too, perhaps even more. You called me Siha, protecting sister. I think I can risk seeing you the same way."

"But I have to warn you. Growing up in the wilderness with Flemeth influenced me more than you can imagine. I will never … feel the same way as you do, never …"

Natasha stopped Morrigan's oral fluency by touching her lips with her index finger. "I know. I'll never expect otherwise. I'll be happy for all what I get from you in the way of friendship. Only allow me to show my friendship to you. That's all I ask from you."

"I always will."

It was the first night since a long time that Natasha slumped to sleep with a smile on her face.


	37. Chapter 37 Ozrammar at last

**Ozrammar at last**

_Frostback Mountains near Ozrammar, 9:30, Kingsway 28th Afternoon_

"I saw what you did were doing back there, Sten."

"What do you mean, Leliana?"

"Don't play innocent with me. You were picking flowers."

"What? Err … yes … I was picking herbs … for Morrigan."

"Herbs, right. What kind of curative they are for? And why did you leave them in front of Natasha's tent?" Leliana made a broad smile, enjoying Sten's discomfort a lot.

"Natasha's tent? Oh, then I confused the tents. Quit that stupid smile."

Leliana looked away unable to hide her smile. "Softie," she whispered.

The last days had been nice in spite of the growing coldness as they entered the Frostback Mountains. Ozrammar was in sight now, they great stone door a clear sight at the end of the meandering trek. There were much less sign of usage on the street than could be expected near such a large city, but the dwarves seemed to like their distance to other peoples. As one of the roaming dwarven traders explained, only a small group of outdoor traders were allowed to enter the city at most times, even they being exiled and casteless for leaving their home.

"Trouble ahead," Mikhail pointed to the city entrance. Beside a number of traders offering their goods on the small place in front of the city gates, there were a number of tents to be seen with a standard of Loghain's troops besides. Alistair added: "I know that crest besides that of Loghain. It belongs to Ser Imrek, he's an envoy of Loghain, had often been at Redcliffe and in Ostagar too. He's a sly one but a coward at heart. Perhaps we can avoid a fight. I don't like the idea of entering Ozrammar with their blood all over me. "

Mikhail nodded in agreement and went on. As they passed the tents, they saw a good dozen of soldiers, drinking beer and playing cards, looking bored at the companions. No officer was present, only a grizzled sergeant. He stared at Mikhail, seemed to realize his identity. But then, after guessing the strength of the group and the expected losses in a fight – his thoughts clearly visible in his face – he relaxed and looked away. Passing the traders Mikhail advanced towards the door, in front of which the dwarven guards were arguing with three humans, one of them a noble. "Ser Imrek," Alistair whispered.

"I demand to see the king or the regent or whatever you have in Ozrammar. I'm the envoy of Teyrn Loghain and …" The dwarven sergeant tried to stop Imrek's oral fluency. "That we had yesterday, already, and the day before and the day before that. You have to wait as all do or leave. It is up to you."

Reaching for the treaty Mikhail stepped forward, ignoring Ser Imrek and handed the scroll to the dwarf. "I'm Grey Warden Mikhail, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. I want to speak to the house of nobles. This treaty between the Grey Wardens and the Dwarves of Ozrammar was signed as an alliance in case of a fight against the blight. We need your help now."

While the dwarf looked at the treaty, the humans shifted uncomfortable, whispering among themselves. While Ser Imrek and the mage besides him waited, kept silent and only shot angry glares at Mikhail, the third human went away in direction of the Loghain soldiers. The companions seemed to ignore Ser Imrek, even Natasha only showing a short but cruel smile towards him. The minutes seemed like hours, the soldiers gathering, collecting arms and armor, and then advancing but seemingly a bit reluctant to go near the companions.

At last the dwarf nodded. "This treaty seems to be true. I allow you to enter the city. Speak with the captain of the guard behind the hall of heroes." Imrek stepped forward. "I can't allow this. These men are …" Coldly the dwarf interrupted him. "You can't allow this? You have nothing to say in this matter." Slowly the door wings opened, while some dwarven soldiers stepped in front of Imrek and his men to prohibit them from entering the city. "You were very placid, Natasha," smiled Alistair. The mage looked back and shrugged. "Why not? They were hardly worth casting any spells. And with the unrest in Ozrammar we heard about, I fear there will be enough opportunity to fight in the next days."

_Ozrammar Commons, 9:30, Harvestmere 2nd Evening_

"You know that the dwarves eat these … mouse pigs, do you?" Morrigan looked at the nug with disgust.

"It is not a pig and surely you can't eat Schmooples." Leliana padded the nug on the head. "Look how cute it is."

"Yes, it is." Alistair laid an arm around Leliana's waist and did his best to hide a smile.

Morrigan groaned. "You're not helpful. And clearly not the right person to be neutral as long you only wants to collect brownie points on Leliana."

Alistair looked sheepishly while Leliana only laughed and pressed a kiss on his lips. "He hasn't to collect brownie points. He only has to be him." Morrigan rolled her eyes but stopped the discussion.

Full four days they had been waiting in Ozrammar now, waiting for an audience with the house of nobles or at least one of the two candidates to the throne. The city was bustling with trouble of all kind, the supporters of the two candidates clashing every day and the underworld gangs using their chances. Only yesterday had it been that Alistair and Mikhail stopped four rogues from extorting money from some traders, the watch being too busy in preventing fights all over the city.

"By the way, do you know where Natasha and Iona are? "

"No, Lel. But my guess would be that Iona is helping some dwarven female in need again."

Leliana nodded, thinking about how active the elven maid had been. Dragging Natasha around – partly to divert her, partly to have some kind of protection – she blossomed up since entering the city, administering some kind words to a mother missing her lost son here, donating some silver to a widow there or speaking with the loremasters about dwarven history, chatting with all kind of traders in the commons and diamond quarter or looking wide-eyed at the ceilings of the giant caves in awe. Her last deed had been to bring a family together, the daughter with her bastard son being exiled from her parents. Leliana smiled thinking about how Iona held a heart-rending speech to the father, persuading him to take his daughter and grandson back into the embrace of the family.

"She would make a very fine minstrel. Her voice is so lovely and perhaps I could teach her to play the harp," Leliana mused.

"Yes, that would be good. She has to earn money somehow if this all is over. With her former employee killed she has to find something new." Alistair evaded the theme of Mikhail as much as he didn't want to discuss the future of him and Leliana. They had been very close these past weeks, the ex-Templar now no more uncomfortable in showing his feelings openly. Since Mikhail astonished him with his plan of becoming king himself Alistair had been even more balanced. If all went well, he could perhaps even … but that was something for later, after the landsmeet. At now only the companions knew about the altered plan, Arl Eamon furthermore planning to set Alistair on the throne.

"Hey, Wynne, may I ask what you're writing there?" Changing the theme Alistair went to the elder mage. Wynne looked up. "I write a letter to Irving. Natasha bade me to write it, because her relationship to him is a bit strained." Wynne smiled. "It is about a dwarven girl she met, Dagna her name. She wants to study magic theory in the Circle." Alistair looked puzzled. "A dwarf wants to learn magic? What good could it be for? She'll never be able to cast a single spell." Solemn Wynne responded. "She wants to learn, learn for the sake of knowledge. I would argue that to be the best reason of all."

Alistair agreed. "You're right. I only wonder were Natasha always finds such odd persons." Leliana gave him a small rabbit punch. "It is not odd, it is very sweet. And surely you know how she found Dagna." In unison Wynne and Alistair answered laughingly: "Iona."


	38. Chapter 38 For Orzammar

**For Orzammar**

_Orzammar, below Dust Town, 9:30, Harvestmere 3rd Midday_

"Mikhail, would you be so kind and repeat what we're doing here? Or better: why we are doing whatever we're doing here?" With disgust in her eyes Morrigan looked down on the floor splattered with flesh, blood and bone splinters. Natasha's combination of force spells proved to be effective anew, but what a mess. Carefully avoiding stepping into something unpleasant the witch crossed the room.

"For glory and honor," Alistair laughed.

"For the gold and the pumping of blood in your veins," Zevran seconded. Morrigan snarled.

Mikhail showed his neutral voice. "We're here to exterminate the Karta and help the people of Ozrammar. And we do it because of the warm feeling in the stomach for helping …" ignoring Morrigan's rumbling he proceeded "… and to prove our competence in fighting a danger the watch wasn't able to end."

"Or not willing to end," Leliana mused. "I can't imagine such an organization with such a large base to exist without someone high in the watch protecting them, surely for a share of the loot."

"Maybe," Mikhail agreed. "But I really can't see any bad in killing some thieves and robbers."

"Speaking about killing robbers", Natasha interrupted. "Is it only me or is it really a bit quiet now? All robbers dead or are they only gathering some forces?"

"Possible. Until now they really should have noticed that a handful of fighters are no match for us," Zevran answered while he disarmed a trap at the next door.

"I hope they do, I'm a bit bored. I really expected a bit more of a fight." Natasha smiled, showing clearly that she had fully recovered from her fight against Flemeth now. Alistair groaned but relaxed as Leliana stroke his arm gently and soothing.

"Do you know where we could find Jarvia, Rica?" Iona asked the dwarven woman softly they rescued some minutes before. Rica, holding the small bundle with her daughter tight to her breast, nodded. "Over there is her hall. I would think she will be waiting there with her men. It is a large hall with four columns to support the ceiling. Normally she has four to eight warriors around her at all times, but now I would expect to double that number."

Mikhail sighed; then he addressed Morrigan. "I hate such a tactic but I don't see the need to get one of us hurt in such an unimportant battle. Please get some shielding from Natasha and then go in and throw a nice sleeping spell on them." Morrigan only nodded. "This will be bloody," Zevran mused.

_Orzammar Commons, 9:30, Harvestmere 3rd Late Afternoon_

Alistair tried to extinct the pictures in his mind. Cutting the throats of sleeping dwarves was not very hero-like, may they be robbers or not. With the spells of Natasha and Morrigan on their side the expected battle was more of a slaughter than a fight. Jarvia and a few survivors they had bound and given to the watch, the watch captain not even trying to hide his disgust about some humans doing his job.

Now they were cleaning their armor and sharpening their weapons, awaiting an invitation from Bhelen. After speaking with the envoys of both throne aspirants, Bhelen and Harrowmount, Mikhail decided to give Bhelen the first chance.

"He may be a traitor to his family, killed his brother and so on, if the rumors are right. But he seems to be more open minded about contact with other races, not as traditional and bigoted as Harrowmount. And he should be the stronger leader, better able to pull the nobles in line fast." It had been a long debate with some of them clearly opposed to ally with a suspected murderer, but at the end they had to trust Mikhail political savvy.

Zevran entered the room, his face wearing a blank expression, a silver plate in his right hand. Walking straight to Mikhail, he performed a slight bow, presenting a letter on the plate. "You have an invitation, Milord." Graceful and with only a hint of a smile Mikhail fetched the letter from the plate and nodded thankfully. "This evening in Lord Bhelen's house. Mm, only three of us. Alright. Alistair, Iona, you'll come with me." Natasha sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes again.

_Orzammar Royal Palace, 9:30, Harvestmere 3rd Evening_

"Let me put it straight. We'll go in the dark road and fetch this Paragon Branka to get her vote on you. And you'll support us in our fight against the blight in acknowledgement of the treaty."

It had been a long evening, Lord Bhelen and Mikhail dancing around with words, making plans and promises. Now it was Bhelen's turn to agree and so he did. "Yes, as fast as I can bring all nobles in line and secure my position, I'll hold my army ready to support you. But I need this vote. Harrowmount and I are mostly on par in circumspect of supporters. With your support after extinguishing the Karta I'm a bit in front but it would not be a secure claim to the throne."

"As you surely can imagine I'm not so eager to go into the deep roads, searching for a woman not seen for two years. But if that is the price for your help I'm ready to pay." Lord Bhelen smiled broadly to Mikhail's answer, looking a bit puzzled as Iona interrupted.

"But we have a condition. There is a woman, her name is Rica. I see, you remember her. She has given birth to a daughter. We both know who the father is, yes? I understand that you hoped for a son, but … that was not to be. Our condition is this: you'll care in an adequate manner for her and her daughter. The best way to do it I trust to your reason. The welfare starts immediately and last permanently irrespectively of our success. See it as an advance."

Bhelen frowned and asked Mikhail: "Is she speaking for you in this matter?"

Mikhail stared long at Iona, grasped her need to help a lonely mother. At last he nodded. "Iona's word is my word." Iona's relief was clearly visible as Bhelen accepted the condition. "And perhaps I've luck and the next child will be the son I need."


	39. Chapter 39 Into the Deep Roads

**Into the deep roads**

_Caridin's Cross, 9:30, Harvestmere 9th Midday_

"Not bad, Oghren, really not bad this enraging trick of yours. Nice chopping with your axe. And some day you have to teach me some of your songs, they sounded … nice." Natasha showed a fearsome grin to Oghren. The dwarf had decided to accompany them into the deep roads, not really asking Mikhail for agreement. Since then Natasha and he had been like two angry mabari at each other throats, only getting a bit friendly after a fight.

Oghren looked around and seemed a bit disappointed that nothing was moving anymore. Two full grown Brontos and more than a score of darkspawn plastered the ground of Caridin's Cross, their first stop in the search for Branka. "Bah, next time the bronto belongs to me. It is unfair to spear him in his charge. And that shielding of the shaman you did only to prevent me from killing him."

Natasha sniggered. "You have me. I'll try to hold back next time, but I can't promise."

Oghren's eyes flashed with amusement. "Better it is. And next time you should sing a bit louder. It helps the anger flow freely. You seemed a bit to disciplined this time. I thought you wanted to learn to focus your rage, wasn't it so?"

Alistair felt his knees buckling and leaned heavy on Mikhail's shoulder. "Please say that I misunderstood something. Oghren is not really encouraging our little volcano in spitting fire, isn't he?"

"I fear he really is. I wonder what we'll have to expect after some weeks with them two together." Zevran walked around the corpses. In the heat of the battle he thought the duty to protect Leliana and Iona much more … healthy than staying near the young mage. He clearly saw the image of Oghren and Natasha whirling around the darkspawn with their weapons flashing and songs on their lips, at the same time a fearsome and marvelous sight.

Mikhail pondered if it was a good idea of Natasha to learn the berserking rage from Oghren but was interrupted by Iona's hand on his arm. As always she was able to read his mind from his face and smiled warmly. "It is okay. She burns her anger in the fight. But do you see? She's much faster back from that trip than before." The warrior scrutinized the mage and nodded. It had really been an improvement. Natasha seemed to learn how to focus her rage, to unleash it in controlled moments and not gnawing at her patience all the time.

"Where have we to go now, Oghren," Mikhail asked their guide?

"She had been here, but months ago. All over the walls there are signs of her work. Best we follow them. From their signs I would assume she wanted to go to Ortan Thaig. It is a two-days-walk to the south." Hefting his weapon Oghren followed the tunnel.

_Ortan Thaig, 9:30, Harvestmere 11th Afternoon_

"Someone collected their weapons." Mikhail rose from the bodies of some killed darkspawn. Only rusted armor and broken weapons were left.

"Perhaps their 'brethren' after the spiders killed them." Alistair mused.

Mikhail kicked one of the corpses. "Perhaps." He didn't sound convinced. "We should be ready for a fight. I don't like this spot."

"But the signs are fresh," Oghren disagreed. "Still months old but younger than the ones in Caridin's Cross. Perhaps we find her camp. I still hope she left some signs for me to find her. She must have known that I would follow her someday."

Mikhail nodded. That Paragon Branka had been Oghren's wife was the most important argument in letting him accompany them, that and his obvious talent with his axe. Since fighting against Ser Cauthrien he had never seen a fighter with such a skill in fighting with a two-handed weapon, perhaps apart from Sten.

"Silence," Iona hissed, cocked her head and stared into the darkness. "There is someone. For a moment I thought I'd seen a dwarf over there." She pointed to Zevran and Leliana how they should advance to flank the foreigner and without arguing both followed her orders. Surprised from her own boldness in commanding her companions around, Iona only saw a warm and content smile on Mikhail's face.

"No, let me, go away. Evil pointy-ear is hurting little Ruck. Ruck doesn't want to go with him."

Cursing and weeping a curious and pitiful creature was dragged by Zevran and Leliana to their companions. Once it must have been a dwarf, but Mikhail felt the taint in him. Iona and Leliana tried their best to calm him and after a while he really began to answer their questions.

"He lived here for a long time, he doesn't know how long. Plundering the darkspawn and eating them. The taint has a tight grip on his body and mind. He promised me to show us Branka's former camp if we let him free afterwards. "

Following Ruck's directions they found the camp within a few hours. It was deserted but as Oghren had hoped Branka left some notices for him. "She went to the Dead Trenches, she's is still looking for the Anvil of the Void, that crazy girl. Now what will we do with Ruck? It is not a life worthy for a dwarf. We should kill him, not?"

"No," Leliana disagreed. "I promised him freedom. He will die some days but not from our hands."

Mikhail was not content with the decision but at last he agreed. "Let's go, the Trenches are waiting."


	40. Chapter 40 Show Yourself

**Show Yourself**

_Way from Ortan Thaig to the Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 15th Midmorning_

"Someone is following us."

"I know, Zevran." Mikhail smiled drily. "Darkspawn all around. I wonder how long they will be waiting to attack." After leaving Ortan Thaig there had been a number of attacks from smaller groups of darkspawn, but since two days that stopped. Instead they were shadowed by darkspawn scouts, following any step of the group, increasing the mental pressure all the time.

"I don't mean them. Someone is following us and it is not a darkspawn, I think. It is very quiet and evading their scouts. I would try to catch it, but with their scouts all around …"

Mikhail nodded. "Yes, better stay with us. I have the uneasy feeling; this peace comes to an end sooner than later."

An hour later they entered a large cave. Some burned-down fires littered the floor, around them laid a dozen of dead darkspawn, mostly cut down with a slashing weapon, apparently dead since a few days. While the companions searched the cave for further signs, Mikhail scanned the scene uneasily. "Something … is amiss here." He jumped back as a pale light encircled the bodies. One of it twitched a second, then a third. Slowly the bodies began to rise, gripping their weapons with their dead hands. Instinctively Alistair lashed out with a wave of his Templar powers, shredded two of the bodies to pieces.

*_patch patch_* The noises of slapping bare feet were heard from all sides as darkspawn appeared in the tunnels around them. Hastily the men tried to form a circle around the women, giving them time to cast their magic and pull their arrows. Alistair and Zevran destroyed one walking corpse after the other while Morrigan decimated the charging darkspawn with her elemental spells.

A large shadow broke away from some rocks, transforming into the figure of a large humanoid rat-creature. Avoiding Sten's whirling blade it charged beside Leliana and screeched. The sound was ear-shattering, stunning. The bard immediately went unconscious, her fall stopped by the strong arms of the rat-creature. Without waiting for the companions to recover it turned around and run away, his prey holding tight to his breast.

"No, Leliana." Alistair followed the assailant as fast as he could, Natasha at his side. "Stop, Alistair, that's a trap." Mikhail's command went unheeded. They reached the tunnel. Further two of these creatures appeared, one of them pushing Alistair against the wall while the other knocked the mage out with a club, pulled her over its shoulder and followed its kin. Alistair's enemy froze with Morrigan's winter grasp spell locking him in place for a few seconds before the ex-Templar shattered him into a hundred shards of ice.

Leading their companions thru some tunnels Morrigan and Alistair tried not to lose the hijackers, suppressing any thoughts about the intent of them. The rat-creatures were fast but a bit slowed down by their prey. The gap closed, while Sten with long strides outrun his companions. A score paces, a dozen. A low rumbling ahead, dust from the ceiling. Sten stopped, reached out to stop Morrigan. The witch tried to evade him, but he grabbed her as the first stones fell down. "We must follow them," Morrigan urged.

"No," Sten embraced her strongly, held her back. More stones followed, blocked the path. "You won't help her by getting killed. " For some long moments Sten had to hold Morrigan back, endure her curses and fists, before she settled down at last, slumping to the ground. This sight it was that forced Mikhail at last to forgive Morrigan for sending Natasha against her mother. Whatever she could say about friendship being a weakness and other stupidities, in these moments she couldn't disguise her sorrow.

"What shall we do now? Find a way around I suppose?" Iona's words called him back to reality. Mikhail suppressed a smile. The elven maid surely tried to give Morrigan some moments to recover her neutral stance and forced action over bad thoughts for all of them. She was so wonderful …

"Have you noticed? The other darkspawn didn't follow us. It was a trap; they only wanted to kidnap them. But why?" Zevran wondered.

"They need them." A coarse voice let them whirl around. They stared at a figure, a dwarven female as it seemed. Clad in leather, short sword at her side, a battle-axe across her back. Something odd Mikhail felt around her. Taint. She felt tainted as Ruck, perhaps even more than him.

"Who are you?" Alistair stepped forward, his voice angry, his nerves seemingly about to snap. "And what do you mean they need them. Speak instantly or I swear …"

"Swear what, little human?" The dwarf stood calm, only a hint of interest in her voice. "Do you really think you could impress me with any threat you're able to voice? I've lived alone in these tunnels for more than a year, slew more darkspawn than you've ever seen and endured atrocities you can't imagine." She slowly stepped forward, sniffed. "You smell … you're a warden, not? "

Alistair slowly nodded, unable to avert looking at her face, the taint clearly visible at this distance. "Sorry for the threat. One of the women they snatched is my … lover and the other a very dear friend. We must rescue them." The dwarf nodded. "I understand. I'll help you. You can call me Nemain." Oghren jolted. "Kinslayer, I knew I had seen that face before." Mikhail laid a soothing hand on Oghren's shoulder. "You are that Nemain …" The dwarf interrupted him. "Yes, that Nemain. I killed my brother and my father sent me into the tunnels. So if you don't trust me, it is okay. Have luck."

Nemain turned around and quietly left the group, whirling around as Oghren followed her. The dwarf stopped, held high his empty hands. "Please wait. I'm … sorry. Kinslayer or not, you've endured these tunnels for so long, the ancestors must smile on you. It is not my task to forget or forgive your crime, but I can respect your skill and will. Help us." Iona stepped forward and assisted Oghren. "Rica told me that Bhelen tricked you into killing your brother. It was not your fault and …"

Nemain shook her head. "It was. I should have seen his intent but my anger about my brother clouded my mind. My father's sentence was justified." She sighed. "But I'll help you. I know a way around this hindrance. Follow me."

And so they did. Losing their sense of direction within minutes they run thru tunnels and caves of all kind, stinking of darkspawn but seeing none. "They have a large cave ahead. Their Necromancer has his lair there. Be careful, he's a mighty shaman."

A while later they reached the cave, Nemain incredible quietly killing the guards, even impressing Zevran with her rogue skills. A full score of darkspawn were in the cave in addition to one of the rat-creatures. Three of them guarded Natasha, bound and gagged but mostly unhurt as it seemed. Nemain pointed to one of the genlocks. "That's the Necromancer. Give me some time to get nearer before you charge in." Mikhail nodded and waved the others into position. Silently Nemain sidestepped into the shadows.

Mikhail tried to stay calm, slowly counting from one to fifty. Then he signaled to attack, rose up and charged, silent for a few steps than thundering a loud battle cry as the first darkspawn become aware of the attack. Smacking one hurlock the shield in his face and slashing against the side of a genlock Mikhail run towards Natasha and her guards. The Necromancer started some hand gestures, weaving a complex spell only to be stopped cold as Nemain appeared behind him, ignored his bodyguards and knocked him down with a strong bash of her axe.

An arrow missed Mikhail's chin only by a few inches and pierced the throat of the guard to the right. _Iona's colors_, Mikhail mused; _I hope she's no too angry with me_, while he charged the middle guard, trying to be aware of the movements of the last. A thumb, a shriek of pain, the rat-creature appeared besides Mikhail, clutching a claw around an arrow in his shoulder. Stopping his charge he whirled around, went low to slice thru the rat's legs and giving Iona a free field of fire. The rat-creature went down, its legs unable to hold up.

For a second Mikhail had to stop as he viewed Iona standing over there like Falon'Din, the elven god in whose honor her bow was named, her face an expression of calm security, arrow for arrow sending death into the ranks of the darkspawn. Leliana would be so proud … Leliana. Mikhail whirled around. The last darkspawn going down the bard was nowhere to be seen. Hastily he followed Morrigan to Natasha.

Drily the mage gave a weak smile while Morrigan freed her. "Is it now the time for the plate-fisted slapping you promised me?" The witch looked down, fumbled with the knots, and disguised the single tear. "Later, I spare this for later, sister." Alistair interrupted the joy. "Where is Leliana? Natasha, do you know where …" Sorrow pushed Natasha's smile away. "She wasn't here when I awoke. I have no idea where she is."

"Bad, really bad," Nemain added. "Behind this cave there are more but it is a real labyrinth. She could be anywhere. Could be days to find her, perhaps too late to save her from …" Nemain stopped, her face exhibiting enough worries to let Alistair shudder in fear. "From what?" He hurled Nemain around, locked eyes with her: "By the maker, save her from what?"

Quietly Nemain asked back. "Do you really want to know? Perhaps it would be better not to." Alistair felt a thick clump building in his stomach. He couldn't voice an answer but only nod. Nemain sighed. "They need women. Men they kill but sometimes they prey on women and drag them into their caves. They hold them captive, feed them with tainted flesh, transform them into …"

"Later." Morrigan interrupted. She used the time to undress, pushed the clothes into her pack and shoved it into Alistair's hand. "Carry it and follow swiftly." Ignoring the puzzled looks of her companions she transformed into a large black wolf and run away, sniffing around at the exit, and then following the scent trail of Leliana as fast as she could.

"Do you think I could persuade her to stay with me in the tunnels? This scent trick would be handy to have around." Natasha looked down to Nemain and needed a few seconds to realize that she wasn't joking. Not able to spare the breath for an answer she followed the black wolf thru a dozen tunnels and caves, Morrigan never stopping for more than a few seconds at a fork.

Suddenly she stopped, shifted back to her human form, standing between her companions with only her small clothes on. Not even Zevran dared to make a remark, all looking into the cave in front of them. A score of darkspawn, the second rat-creature and an Ogre awaited them, surrounding a stalagmite and bound to it … Leliana. Alistair let out a deep breath of relief.

"Alistair, Mikhail to the front. Natasha shields her. Fireball incoming." Not waiting for an answer the witch began to cast her first spell. Only split seconds after a shimmering shield surrounded the bard a ball of fire was slung against the ogre, hit him on the broad breast and engulfed him in flames before a wave of force and fire expanded, and send the greater part of the darkspawn to the ground.

With the warriors shielding them the three mages advanced, hitting the darkspawn with wave after wave of fire, ice and lightning. The resistance crumbled, but none of the darkspawn fled. Fast the fatigue went high in the mages, but they held out until the last enemy went down burning. Trembling Natasha let down the spell shielding Leliana from the magical onslaught around her, Morrigan collapsing besides her while Wynne forced her body to move on. It was only after securing Leliana to be in order before she allowed her to sit down, panting heavily.

Alistair embraced the shivering Leliana, trying to soothe her. Holding her tight against his shoulder he looked to Morrigan. "Thank you. Really, thank you. If I ever …" The witch snarled. "Stop that nonsense. It is Natasha's bad influence. Some more months with her around and I'll start to call you friend or something. And that really nobody wants." Alistair gave a weak nod, suppressing to answer Natasha's broad smile.

_PS: Nemain is another character of mine. This and the following chapters describe what would have happened without her meeting Duncan after being sent into the tunnels._


	41. Chapter 41 A Storm Rising

**A Storm Rising**

_Way from Ortan Thaig to the Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 15th Evening_

With Mikhail standing guard the group went to sleep, at least a little. The warrior looked at Nemain, the dwarf sleeping near Oghren, seemingly trusting the grumpy man not to do something stupid around here despite his lecherous speak. How would it be, he pondered, to live here in the deep roads alone? He couldn't really imagine. Her body was clearly tainted but her will seemed to be able to hold her mind together, not showing the signs of insanity as Rusk did.

What made her to go on despite all what she endured? Stubbornness was part of it, that for sure. Hate for the darkspawn. And she seemed to harness a strong feeling of duty and protection for her people. They were lucky to have her on their side. She promised them to show a path to the dead trenches not so cramped with darkspawn. Surely even with her skills in fight and subtlety she had to know secret paths around her enemies to survive for so long.

A low moan fetched his attention. A smile crossed his face as he looked down at Iona. He bent over and with a gentle move he pulled the blanket over her back and shoulders again. Has it been only three months since he spend an evening with her in the bath? Had someone told him that day he would be with her in the deep roads, sleeping on the stony ground, he would have laughed into his face. She deserved better. A hundredth time he swore to himself to protect her and see her reach Denerim and her daughter again. If nothing else was a reason to win the fight against the blight, this elven maid was one. As silently as possible he leaned over, tugged a strain of hair behind her ear and placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek.

_Way from Ortan Thaig to the Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 19th Midday_

"We're almost there." Nemain informed the group. As promised she had led them thru a number of tunnels, some nearly not broad enough to give Sten enough room to wrangle thru. But as hoped they evaded further fights almost completely, only Oghren and Natasha grumbling about that to be boring.

The clang of weapons reached their ears and stopped their march. The typical noises darkspawn made when hurt but also an occasional cry of pain. Readying their weapons the companions pushed forward. The tunnel broadened into the largest cave they had seen so far. A huge bridge crossed a gorge that gave the dead trenches their name. A small fortification on this side was attacked by a large group of darkspawn and defended by dwarves.

"Legion of the dead," Oghren asked? Nemain only nodded and jogged forward. Oghren followed swiftly, the others not falling back to much. Natasha switched her staff against the sword she found in the Temple of Andraste and the elven round shield with the sign of Mythal on it, carrying her elven mail armor with ease as her magically enhanced strength kicked in. Was it her reason that the crawled fight didn't allow the free casting of her spells or simply the need to get physical, Mikhail wondered a few moments, before he reached the first Genlock.

A wild fight erupted, the melee companions storming into the middle of the battle while Leliana, Iona and Morrigan drove away the next wave of attackers on the bridge. Way too fast for Oghren's liking the battle was over. A dwarven officer looked down on them, panting heavily but with a neutral expression. "Thanks for your help. We would have won without it, but I appreciate the thought."

For a moment his gaze stopped on Nemain and he acknowledged her presence with a slight nod. "I'm Kardol, leader of the Legion of the Dead. I greet thee, grey wardens."

Mikhail did his best to suppress any signs of surprise. "Thank you, Kardol. I'm Warden Mikhail. We're searching a group of dwarves assumed to be around the dead trenches. Paragon Branka should be leading them." Kardol sneered. "She is dead for sure. Yes, she went to the dead trenches but nobody survives there. Even we aren't able to even cross the bridge. We wanted to reach Bownammar, our old home, but on the other side is a large troop of darkspawn with emissaries and ogres within a fortification. No getting thru. And behind that it should get worse even with most of the darkspawn leaving for the surface."

"We have to try," Mikhail stated. "And Branka had her clan with her, perhaps she survived. If we're able to extinguish this fortification, would you and your men help us in the trenches?" Kardol stared back and nodded at last. "Sure. It would be a great fight. But I won't squander my men in senseless battles. Everyone should have the chance to kill a dozen darkspawn before going down, not getting killed by a rain of arrows. "

Some minutes later Mikhail gave a heavy sigh. "Kardol was right, that fortification is nearly indestructible for our small group. Their archers and shamans could kill us all before we reach them." Morrigan suggested: "Perhaps Natasha could shield me while I'm throwing fireballs."

"No," Natasha disagreed. "Even I can't shield you long enough against a handful of shamans and two scores of archers. But … Mikhail, could you bring me within thirty paces of the fortification and shield me for … fifteen heartbeats, perhaps twenty?" With a puzzled look Mikhail answered: "with a wall of shields it would be possible, but to what avail?" Hesitating for a few moments, looking a bit timid to Wynne, the mage explained. "A few days ago Wynne taught me a blizzard spell. Combined with my own well-used lightning and a bit of magical pressure … "

"No, not that," Wynne interrupted. "You can't be seriously thinking about casting a storm spell. You're not ready for that." Natasha glared back: "Do you have any better idea? We have to options: kill these darkspawn or go back to Orzammar defeated. And surely I'm here to win."

"What's that for a spell, this storm?" Morrigan answered Mikhail's question: "combining two spells can give some very interesting results, often much stronger than the simple addition. Blizzard and Lightning are two damaging spells covering a very small area, but combining them expands this in space and damaging effects. If Natasha is able to control that … yes, you'll see. It would be a possible way."

For a while Mikhail looked into the faces of Wynne and Natasha, sighing at last. "I trust you in knowing your limits, Natasha. Try it. I'll prepare the shielding."

Another few minutes later a weird thing could be seen from the fortification. Four dwarves holding shields low in front of them, a second row of shields above held by Alistair, Sten and Mikhail. All seven protected Natasha in the middle, with Zevran and Leliana at their sides to kill any stragglers bold enough to attack. Wynne, Oghren and Iona waited with Kardol and the other Legionnaires.

Fifty paces. Slowly they advanced. Forty. The first arrows hit the shields. Thirty-five. Thirty. The group stopped, a rain of arrows pouring down on them, their shamans waiting to get better targets. A single arrow scratched Zevran's arm, another pierced a dwarves' foot.

Ignoring all around herself Natasha started to gather her strength, magic flowing to her mind, glowing visible on her skin. Alistair's skin tickled. The mage switched to another pattern of gestures, directed a pale blue ball to the ceiling above the fortification. The rain of arrows increased, some darkspawn lead by an Ogre left the fortification. Another pattern, another ball, this time purple with some crackling lights within, followed the other one. Drops of sweat showed on her face, a single drop of blood ran from her nose. Holding up her arms as if she would hold the balls in her hands, she moved the blue and the purple ball together. As they touched they stopped for a moment. Groaning Natasha increased the magical pressure. More sweat now running freely down her face, her nosebleed increased, her knees buckled until Leliana grabbed her waist. A curse escaping her throat Natasha pulled every ounce of will, and defeated the boundaries of elemental magic.

The balls merged and the world perished in a storm of the century.


	42. Chapter 42 Caves of Horror

**Caves of Horror**

_Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 19th Midday_

"This is … fearsome." Alistair searched the fortification for survivors. Most darkspawn had perished in the storm, a few strugglers cut down by the spells of Morrigan and Wynne while the group around Natasha had to stay in coverage of their shields, the storm pummeling darkspawn and companions alike. Dead Hurlocks, Genlocks and Rat-Creatures laid everywhere, frozen to death or killed by lightning.

Zevran shuddered. "Please remember me in time never to annoy her."

Alistair nodded looking back to Natasha. The mage still kneeled on the ground, recovering from her magic. Morrigan stood behind her, massaged her shoulders and neck. For a moment Natasha leaned her head against the witch, hastily sitting up again as Morrigan stiffened. Feeling Alistair's stare the witch interrupted her doing for a moment, looked displeased but then shrugged and resumed her action. A smile crossed Alistair's face. Apart from Iona it seemed that Morrigan changed the most in the last months. He still didn't trust her really but he was sure her friendship for Natasha was genuine. From Leliana he knew that the mage hoped for more, but …

"We should go on before other darkspawn appear." Kardol gathered his men and pointed to a tunnel. "There is the way. I'd like to visit Bownammar first to honor the Legion. After that I show you the way thru the trenches." Mikhail agreed.

Between Kardol's knowledge of the trenches and Nemain's skills as a scout it was relatively easy to pass the next halls. Mostly small groups of darkspawn waited and a single necromancer with less skill than his comrade days before in addition to a pair of Ogres. The companions felt as in a dream, passing these old chambers of the dwarves, sarcophagi with the bones of former heroes, runes describing the history. A young dwarf named Sigrun, not as grumpy as her comrades, took the task on herself to explain what they saw around them.

And then they reached Bownammar, a stone portal, dust of centuries covering the ground. Obviously the darkspawn hadn't been eager to enter this hall and the reason was clear. Ghostly figures watched them closely as Kardol and Nemain entered the hall, the companions waiting at the entrance. Slowly they walked around, spoke silently about what they found, offered a prayer at an altar. Methodically they recorded all inscriptions and stored them away. At last Kardol took something small and flashing from the altar, greeted the figures farewell and left the hall, Nemain slowly following him. It was the first time since meeting her that she seemed to be at peace with herself.

Kardol smiled weakly. "I thank you, Mikhail. And Natasha. And all of you. To give me the chance to see this hall once again. Irrelevant what happens when you're back at Orzammar: if you'll fight the blight, the Legion will be at your side." Wishing the companions farewell a few hours later, the Legionnaires returned and the companions entered the caves below the trenches, following the signs of Branka. Only Sigrun remained with the companions. "My cousin, she went with Branka. The Legion normally lets the past and family behind, but Kardol allowed me to go with you, if you agree." Mikhail nodded.

_Below the Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 22th Morning_

They left the halls and entered the caverns. Warm and moist they were, completely different than the caverns before. An eerie feeling grabbed the companions. The signs of Branka were clear on the walls, but what use had these rooms for her?

_First day, they come and catch everyone._  
><em>Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat<em>

Alistair felt a chill running down his spine.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._  
><em>Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.<em>

Alistair and some other companions stopped and looked at Mikhail. The warrior urged them forward.

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._  
><em>Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.<em>

Sensing an unknown fear Alistair advanced only slowly.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._  
><em>Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated.<em>

Leliana began to sob and leaned against Alistair. Lovingly the ex-Templar embraced her, his eyes searching for Nemain. The dwarf gravely nodded. In a few moments he would know …

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._  
><em>Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.<em>

They encircled the last corner. In front of them was another cave, the smell of rotting tainted flesh overwhelming. A single dwarven female sat on the floor, feasting on the flesh.

_Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._

Slowly they advanced a few paces. A low moan emanated from Sigrun: "Hespith."

The dwarf looked up, needed long moments to acknowledge their presence and a long time more to recognize: "Sigrun, it is you? You shouldn't come here. Shouldn't see me like this." In spite of her pitch she didn't cry, her eyes unable to produce tears any more. A painful sob could be heard. "I tried to hold her back, Branka my love. But even I could not …"

Sigrun rushed to her cousin, embraced her heartily, hesitating only for a moment as she saw the heavy taint in Hespith's face. "Hush, Hespith. It is alright. You did what you could. Where is she now?"

A cry passed thru the cave, a cry of incredible pain and sorrow. Hespith sobbed anew. "That is Laryn. That was Laryn. We must save her from her anguish. She lost her mind after they forced her to … eat her husband." Even Morrigan couldn't deny the clump of fear and horror in her stomach. Mikhail breathed heavily, and then he nodded. "Let's go."


	43. Chapter 43 Choosing Sides

**Choosing Sides**

_Below the Dead Trenches, 9:30, Harvestmere 20th Morning_

The … thing … that had once been Laryn was now only a pool of blood, chunks of flesh and reeking grease. The fight had been terrible, darkspawn coming to the aid of their broodmother and stinking fog filling the room as they wounded the massive body. Wynne tried to heal the painful bruises the broodmother's tentacles did to them. Meanwhile Nemain spoke softly with Sigrun, the young dwarven rogue trembling. Hespith had participated in the fight, helped to kill her former clansmate, only to jump into a lava pool afterwards, no more able to stand the visions her taint caused, stand the memories what became of her clan and her love.

Snarling Morrigan took the part of urging the companions out of the cave, leaving behind the smell if not the unpleasant memory. Even Oghren didn't like to speak about Branka now, the reason why she had changed into someone even able to sacrifice her clan in such a manner. A look into the eyes of Sigrun or Nemain told Mikhail that it would be arduous to restrain them from simply killing Branka on sight.

Slowly and silently they followed the signs of Branka, left the Dead Trenches behind and entered the quarter of the Anvil. Bodies on the ground, dead dwarves and darkspawn, some knotted in death killing each other, some sacrificed to trigger a trap. More than once only the skills of Zevran helped them overcome a trap of flame or gas. After a while Sigrun cleared her mind and helped the elf, knowing better than even him to look out for further dangers on their path.

"Wait. These are not statues. I assume they're golems, likely to attack if we walk therein." Sigrun explained. Mikhail sent Alistair to the right, himself positioning in front of the left 'statue', slowly advancing. As expected some grinding could be heard, then the statues went to life, moving very slowly to begin but getting faster after some moments. Natasha cursed, her spell fizzling useless against the stone creature. Gripping her sword, enhancing her strength with magic, she rushed forward and behind the golem, helped Sten and Zevran to put it down. It was a long fight and very strenuous, their weapons only chip by chip of stone eating away the body of the golem, Alistair and Mikhail incredible fatigued from avoiding the blows and stopping them with their shields. And these were only the first of them.

_Near the Anvil of the Void, 9:30, Harvestmere 20th Midday_

More and more they had to make pauses, to rest from their fights, cleaning room for room only to find another one with more golems in them. Had there been a commander to coordinate the golems in a single wave, the companions would have perished long before. Even now their stock of energizing herbs dwindled, every muscle ached, every sinew felt strained.

The last trap had been a type of four-headed statue spitting streams of hot ashes against its enemies. It needed all healing and shielding magic to let Mikhail, Alistair and Nemain survive long enough to distract the statue from Sigrun. The dwarven rogue hastily put in places the levers to open the next door. With a grunt Nemain threw herself between statue and Sigrun, intercepted one of the ash attacks, shrugged off the effect thanks to her incredible toughness.

"Thank you, Nemain." The dwarven warrioress only nodded shortly and hurried to the exit.

Nearing the next hallway, leaving behind the cave of the ash-statue, the companions felt something tingle their hair. "Magic in front of us, much magic, really much," Natasha hesitated a moment before she followed Mikhail further.

Heat was in the air, a large chamber in front of them, partly with stony ground but also in parts large pools of lava visible. In the background a large anvil, covered with runes and glittering like new, was to be seen. In front of it nearly a dozen golems stood in a half-circle, at the middle position centering a single even larger golem crafted from red steel. Instead of attacking them in force only the steel golem slowly stepped forward, making no aggressive move.

"I am Caridin, creator of the Anvil of the Void. Why are you here, what are you looking for?" The voice seemed like hot lava hissing over steel but Mikhail heard a tune of despair and sorrow within. He looked for help to Nemain and Sigrun. The tainted warrioress stepped forward.

"I am Nemain Aeducan, second child of Endrin Aeducan, former king of Orzammar, now laid to the stones again. I greet you humbly, Paragon Caridin. This man is the grey warden Mikhail. He and his companions need your assistance." Mikhail frowned. What was Nemain up to? "The throne of Orzammar is vacant. My home is in dire need of a king, the blight coming and destroying all in its path. We want to set my … brother Bhelen on the throne to end civil war and give my people hope." Mikhail looked around. He had evaded the reason of their journey around Nemain. Who had told her that? With Bhelen being the reason for her exile he had been sure the warrioress would not react nicely to it.

"I don't know your brother or your father and I don't care who is king, but I understand your reason, your urge to fill the throne anew. How can I help you with your task?"

Nemain sighed. "Bhelen needs your assistance, your word that you support him, if not by your presence than perhaps with a sign. You could create a sign of his royalty, a weapon, a shield, perhaps a crown, something that indicates your support."

"I will help you. I will create a crown for him, a crown of a paragon. But I need your help, too. You must listen to my story to understand. The anvil I created enabled me to produce golems, golems to defend our race. But the anvil only forms them; it is not able to create life in itself. The souls of the golems had to be from somewhere: dwarves. I took dwarves and hammered them into stone and steel." Nemain and the other moaned in horror at the implication.

"At first I used only volunteers. Many warriors were ready to submit to this process and be able to serve our people. But then the king succumbed to greed. He needed more golems, partly to sell them. I resisted, but my assistants followed the royal command. To punish me for my insubordination they hammered me into this form, transformed me into a golem myself. I don't want this anvil to ever again create golems, to never again destroy a dwarf. But I can't touch it myself. Destroy the anvil and I will help you. "

"No." A single creature rushed forward from the shadows, a shield around her back, an axe at her side and a type of scepter in her hand. "I can't allow this. We need the anvil, we need the golems. They are our only chance to defend against the blight. You, Mikhail, I will help you. I will speak in support of Bhelen. But don't destroy the anvil."

"Branka, you crazy ass of a bronto," Oghren stepped forward, his words stopping Nemain and Sigrun from killing Branka instantly. "Oghren, you drunken bastard, I hoped to never see you again. Stay back, I have to speak with important and sober people. Now Mikhail, what it is? Do you help me or have I to force my opinion?" She raised the scepter a bit, smiling confidently.

On a sign of Natasha with a graceful motion Leliana lifted her bow and let fly an arrow, kicking the scepter out of Branka's hand, the dwarf herself being shouldered away an instant later thru the mage's force spell. With a grim expression Natasha strode forward, pushing Branka away step for step with further magic, at last reaching down for the scepter. A rush of emotions shot thru her head and heart: visions, pictures of the cave from a dozen sights, stony hearts trembling from fear and despair to be forced again to do something against their will.

Branka tried to attack, but a prison spell shackled her. Ignoring the raging dwarf Natasha wandered to the golems, paced off the line. One by one she laid a hand on their breast, murmuring a dwarven name. No word was spoken, an eerie silence accompanying her doing. At last she stopped, looked down the line of golems. "I've done many things I regret, many stupid, some really bad. But never ever will I force someone to experience what you did." Raising her hand she encompassed the scepter with streams of force magic, slowly burning it away. "We'll help you, Caridin, irrelevant of your support."

"We'll destroy the anvil." She looked to Mikhail and the warrior slowly nodded.


	44. Chapter 44 A new King

**A new King**

_Way to Caridin's Cross, 9:30, Harvestmere 25th Morning_

The time of parting had come. Since two days they had been on their way back to Orzammar, two days since Mikhail got the crown for Bhelen, two days since Caridin threw himself into the lava and Nemain executed Branka for her deeds. Oghren had been very silent in these days but he seemed to slowly overcome his mood.

The thundering steps of the golems had been a constant reminder. Three of them followed Caridin into the lava, wanting to stop their artificial life. But eight of them decided to help their people, fight the blight and go on in their duty. Natasha wore their command rod, the command rod Caridin had given her, the mage's hands trembling, her face an expression of despair.

"Mikhail, would you please take this with you. Give it to Bhelen with my … best wishes. I took it back from an Ogre warlord. It belonged to my grandfather and I hope it will do some good to Bhelen." With care Mikhail wrapped the battleaxe into some clothes, nodding his approval. "What will you do, Nemain?" The warrioress smiled weakly. "Fight as always I did. Kill darkspawn until I'll fail someday or I succumb to the taint. I hope the former but fear the later. Perhaps one day we see us again. Farewell my friend." And so they parted in the middle of nowhere in some uncharted tunnels of the Deep Roads.

_Doors of Orzammar, 9:30, Firstfall 10th Midday_

Thirty-Two days. It had been only thirty-two days in the deep roads, but Iona felt as if it had been a whole lifetime. Deep she inhaled the fresh air. It was so incredible to feel the rays of the sun upon her skin. She had taken of her jacket and as much clothes as she dared in front of the dwarven traders and basked in the sun. Leliana stood beside her, moaning in pleasure, the hands of smiling Alistair on her shoulders. Could only Mikhail be with her now.

But it was not possible. He, Natasha and Oghren went to the assembly of nobles, the eight golems their honor guard. After parting from Sigrun the other companions went straight outdoors, their need to see the sun and feel the wind irresistible.

"Not long and you'll see your daughter again," Leliana murmured. Iona looked at her intensely and nodded at last. "With all alliances put back into shape we'll go to Denerim now, I suppose." Iona groaned. Amethyne. She would see her again, hold her in her arms. But it would also be the time to part from Mikhail. If her plans went well … she tried to hold back her tears. It would be the best. Best for Mikhail, best for Ferelden, best for her people. She was sure that Mikhail would do what he could to better the situation in the alienage. How could it be that she was not happy about it?

Leliana freed herself from Alistair's grasp and embraced the smaller elven maid, hugged her deeply as Iona's head rested against her shoulder.

_Orzammar, assembly of nobles, 9:30, Firstfall 10th Midday_

"And with this crown, crafted from Paragon Caridin, you shall be the new king of Orzammar." The nobles clasped their hands and bowed to honor Bhelen, their new king, as assembly steward Bandelor put the crown on his head.

With Oghren's report and the silent proof of eight guarding golems behind them it had been no problem to persuade the assembly to declare Bhelen king. For a moment Mikhail grinded his teeth as Bhelen stated his first order, the execution of Harrowmount, but this was not his decision to make.

King Bhelen, "I'm honored to hail you as the new king of Orzammar. Please let me give you this as a token of respect, send with me from a mighty and brave dwarven warrioress we met in the deep roads. Without her help we would have failed in our mission and my warden-sister Natasha would have endured a terrible death." With a puzzled look Bhelen took the package, unwrapping it and staring wide-eyed at the weapon. With a coarse voice he answered. "I thank you. I will honor this present. Perhaps someday I'll speak with this warrioress. Surely she has earned the right to be put to stone in Orzammar when her time comes."

_Doors of Orzammar, 9:30, Firstfall 13th Morning_

The doors closed behind them. Three days Mikhail had allowed them to recover from the deep roads, three days in which he got more and more restless; three days with Iona evading him as good as possible.

Mikhail looked at Natasha. The mage had spoken to him the day before, loaning a great sum of money from him, not willing to explain what she needed it for. And then there was Dagna.

"Are you sure about this, Natasha? I mean … that with Dagna and the golems." Natasha looked shortly at him, nodded in earnest. "Yes, I'm sure. We can't march around with some golems stomping the ground. Someone has to … look after them. And neither Bhelen nor Eamon I trust enough. Dagna has enough knowledge, a strong will and a very good heart. She won't toss them around like expendables. And to help her I'll give her a friend to watch." Mikhail frowned. "You'll see in time."

Mikhail responded. "I hope you'll be right. Another thing I want to speak about." He hesitated, searched for words. "You want to know about Jowan," Natasha helped. "Yes, it is. You never said anything about that night in the Arl's prison. Do you want to tell me?"

Natasha sighed and nodded. "I will. You remember that you asked me to stay the night with him? Surely you do. It was … I can't describe it really. He had been a close friend. Not as close as Cullen or Lily but close yet. There had been a time I would have trusted him with my life. But then … so much had happened. He deceived me, deceived Lily, poisoned the Arl, and did so many evil things. And then … he regretted that all, yes, but he wasn't able to change himself. He made excuses. That he needed this magic to protect himself, to help others, that he was not strong enough without it."

"I needed hours of conversation with him but at last it was clear to me: he would never restrain for long from using blood magic. Even with me watching him it would only be a question of time before he used it again, before he'll do something terrible again. And so I made my decision. He would be send to the tower of magi and there he would be sentenced to tranquility. He pleaded, he begged, but … I was too hurt and the memory of Lily's face was too fresh. I wasn't able to give in. So he bade me to change the sentence from tranquility to death. At that moment I didn't want to kill him but I understood his wish, I would have chosen death myself."

"And so you killed him?" Mikhail asked with a hoarse whisper.

"No, I couldn't. I tried … but I couldn't. So I asked Morrigan. She brewed some poison for him. He died in my arms, calmly. "


	45. Chapter 45 A late Diner

**A late Diner**

_Castle Redcliffe, 9:30, Firstfall 26th Early Evening_

"He was really pissed, wasn't he?" Alistair asked his co-warden Mikhail in a hushed voice.

"He'll get over it in time." Mikhail responded coldly. He remembered the glare Arl Eamon shot in his direction after they explained their plan to set Mikhail on the throne. Without Teagan's calm voice the discussion would have gone out of hand. To their luck the Bann had been a supporter of their plan, feeling the uneasiness of Alistair to become king.

"I don't understand why he had been so furious about it. You've an equally strong claim to the throne as I and you had been educated to lead. Why couldn't he see …" Alistair's voice trembled?

Mikhail only shrugged. Sure, he had a strong idea about the reason which led Eamon to oppose their plan, but he knew that Alistair had a liking of the Arl too great to suppose it. How should he explain to his fellow warden that the man he saw as his father favored him in becoming king because he knew that Alistair could be swayed to his liking more easily than Mikhail? Arl Eamon had no desire for the throne himself, but it was easy to see that he liked the idea of being the grey eminence behind the throne, the counselor, the real mover. Easy to see at least for him. And to Iona as Mikhail was not surprised to realize. But she held her mouth shut, perhaps for the same reasons as he did.

"What next," the elven maid interrupted the discussion.

Mikhail was relieved to change the subject. "We'll rest two days in Redcliffe, then we accompany Levi Dryden to soldier's peak. On the way we'll make a stop at the Circle of Magi. Natasha wants to speak with Irving. And afterwards it will be Denerim. Arl Eamon should be there when we'll arrive. Afterwards it will be time to prepare the landsmeet."

_Castle Redcliffe, 9:30, Firstfall 23th Late Evening_

"This way, please." The servant pointed to the door, his face blank and not showing any emotion about being compelled to lead an elf around the castle. Zevran nodded with a thin smile and went to the door, stopped in front of it to compose himself. He felt a bit nervous about this invitation. Why had she done this, he mused? The first sign had been her order to give her a room in this side-tower and not with the other guest rooms above the main hall. And then this servant appeared, handing him a short letter, an invitation to a late evening drink.

The elf knocked on the door_. _"Come in." The voice was a bit pressed and Zevran felt relieved to his own surprise. As it seemed Natasha was as unsure about this evening as he was. He opened and drew the picture within his mind. A dozen burning candles all around, the table ready lay with a plate of cheese, two glasses and a flask of vine.

And then there was Natasha. With a body towering a full hand's breadth above the elf and a bit too bony to be really beautiful, she had chosen not to wear a dress but a crimson satin blouse with padded shoulders and black close-fitting pants. Zevran had to press back a smile as Natasha faltered a step, her body unused to the pretty shoes which certainly had been chosen by Leliana. The feet … Zevran had always loved her slender hands and feet the most about her. And her hair, naturally, this hair in the color of rising storm clouds, so adequately to her character. It fell down her shoulders in long waves, barely held in check by two hair clasps carved from ivory.

The mage smiled in unusual shyness, waving Zevran to enter. "I'm so glad that you followed my invitation." Zevran bowed slightly, entered the room and closed the door silently, causing a single gulp from Natasha. "How could I even consider restraining myself from not obeying the invitation of such a marvelous woman as you?"

Natasha blushed but didn't respond directly to his flattery. Zevran knew that she was unsure with compliments about her features, the mage feeling unattractive. In a way she was right, Zevran admitted to himself. She was not nearly a classical beauty as Leliana or Iona. But her will, her determination and her wild inner fire more made up for this, at least for him. And these clothes were wisely chosen, surely consulted by Leliana again, and accentuated her body very well. At least until she ceased to wear them. And this would be in the near future as he hoped.

Slowly Natasha poured some red vine into the glasses, a strong odor filling the small room. Reluctantly she held out her hand with a glass and Zevran took it, gently touching her hand. She blushed anew; hiding her cheeks behind her own glass as she a bit too hastily took a deep sip. Zevran drank; then he kindly took her arm, led her to a chair so that Natasha could sit down. Obviously she felt more at ease now, the feet with the unused shoes being at rest.

Zevran dragged a chair near her, sat down now in arm's reach to her body. The mage seemed a bit uneasy but didn't want to back off. Softly the elf removed her glass, put it on the table and grasped her hands. They trembled a bit and felt cold. With a very smooth voice Zevran tried hard to give Natasha composure.

"My dear warden … Natasha … I'm very glad that you invited me. Since we left Redcliffe weeks ago I wasn't sure how you felt about … us." Natasha winced a bit, seemed to think about the right answer, but Zevran spoke on. "I know that you don't love me. But I hope that you trust me now and perhaps …" Surprisingly Zevran felt unsecure about how to proceed. So it was his turn now to be relieved as Natasha started to speak.

"Zevran, I like you as a dear friend. I trusted you with my life since the beginning and in the meantime I trust you with my inner feelings, at least as far as I could with a man. I find you very … attractive. And from the men I know you're the one and only one I could think at now to … err … spend a night with me." Natasha's cheeks turned a dark purple as she stammered on. "I know that you've done … this … with me on Morrigan's order to save my life. But as you know I was not in the condition to remember. I hope it was not too embarrassing for you and you're not against a sequel to that now that I've recovered." Her speech enhancing speed from word to word as she clearly wanted to end before losing her nerves, Natasha sighed at ease that all was said now. Unsettled she awaited his answer.

As Zevran started to speak a short knock at the door interrupted him. Without waiting for an answer the disturber opened the door and Morrigan walked into the room, stopping after a few steps. "Natasha, are you awake? I wanted to … oh … Zevran." Searching for words Morrigan stood in the middle of the room, looking at Zevran and Natasha with a wild array of emotions, mostly surprise and … jealousy? Zevran wasn't sure about that. Hastily Natasha sprang up, the chair clattering to the floor, and nearly jumped back a step to get away from Zevran. Blushing she seemed to puzzle about what to do first, answer Morrigan or lift the chair.

"Err … Morrigan, we were just …" The witch looked at Natasha's clothes, at the vine glasses and at Zevran, her eyes very coldly. "I see …" Suddenly she turned around and left the room, closing the door with a bit too much force. Distressed Natasha continued to stand at her place, unable to follow the witch, sorrow in her face. Zevran sighed, walked to the mage and gently pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight as Natasha began to cry silently.

"I know, Natasha, I know."


	46. Chapter 46 Admitted Emotions

**Admitted Emotions**

_Circle of Magi, 9:30, Haring 2nd Afternoon_

Greagoir looked up from his paperwork and greeted First Enchanter Irving, who entered his room with Templar Cullen besides him.

"Hello Greagoir. If you've some time for me …" The Knight-Commander waved them to take places. "Natasha had been visiting me yesterday with a wish. She met a dwarf at Orzammar, a young woman named Dagna. This as it seems a bit peculiar woman wants to visit and stay at the Circle, wants to learn magic, despite she knows that she would never be able to cast a single spell herself. But she is educated in crafting runes and has a high degree of interest in the theories of magic, as Natasha told me. Do you see any problems in this case?"

"No, I've no reservations about her. Not able to cast spells herself and with dwarves being more resistant to demons she would be a fine addition to the tower."

Irving sighed in relief. "That's good." He pondered for a few moments. "But there is some other problem, not directly related to her interests but … you remember that Warden Mikhail told about his success in winning the new king of Orzammar as an ally for the fight against the blight. Now it seems that he or to be exactly Natasha found some other allies as well. Some very special allies. This Dagna is in Castle Redcliffe now, holding watch over these allies." Irving harrumphed before going on. "These allies are stone golems, eight golems in all." Irving smiled shortly as Greagoir gasped. "Yes, that I thought myself. They are held in check thru a controlling rod in the hand of Dagna."

"That is a great burden for a single woman." Greagoir mused.

Irving nodded. "Yes, it is. Natasha explained that she didn't trust the new dwarven king enough … or Arl Eamon by the way … to hold so much power. This Dagna on the other hand … but she had a wish and I hope you'll fulfill it: she wants a guardian for Dagna, Cullen to be exactly. Someone who can be trusted to watch her back and in the same time …"

"Makes sure that she never abuses her power," Greagoir understood. "That is a very good idea. A week ago I would have been surprised this coming from her but now … did you know that she thanked me? Thanked me for sparing her life and forcing her to be a warden?"

Irving looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled broadly.

Greagoir continued. "I really hoped she would someday understand before I'm old and grey … alright, more old and grey than now … but after only a few months …"

Irving nodded. "She grows up. She softens, a bit at least. And she crackles with power. I hope after the blight she'll stay a while at the tower and teach us these ways of arcane warrior she found in the Brecilian Forest."

"Yes, she matures." Greagoir shot a short glance at Cullen. "But the same time she seemed unhappy at the moment."

Irving agreed." I saw that too, wasn't sure about the reason."

"She's in love." It was the first time Cullen said something. "She loves someone and …"

Greagoir nodded gravely. "I understand." With a piercing look he asked Cullen: "And what about you?"

Cullen gasped. "I'm not the one she loves."

"That's not what I wanted to know."

He hesitated a few seconds, and then Cullen answered very silently. "I love her. I did it for years and I'm not sure if I ever could leave that behind, even with Natasha clearly stating that she only wishes to be my friend."

"That's good." Greagoir answered the puzzled stares with a thin smile. "What did you think? That I resent your feelings? How could I begrudge you for an emotion the maker gave you, an emotion which belongs to the greatest virtues of mankind? To love is right, may it be for your family, your community … or a wife. I only expect to hold your body and mind in check. And it is better to admit a feeling than suppressing it."

"With your approval I'll prepare to leave for Redcliffe, Commander."

Greagoir nodded and watched as Cullen left the room.

Irving harrumphed. "You love her too, don't you? As a daughter I mean."

The Commander stared at Irving for long moments, and then he pressed a thin smile. "How could I not?"

_On the northern road, 9:30, Haring 4th Afternoon_

Zevran sat on a boulder overlooking the street, waiting for his companions. Two more days to walk before they would reach this old castle Dryden spoke about. He bade Mikhail to help him reach it, search for clues about his grandmother, the last Warden-Commander of Ferelden. And Mikhail accepted.

The elf looked down the road, searched for the heads of Natasha and Morrigan. It had been a very unusual night, him and the mage staying in bed together, fully clothed, Zevran embracing a trembling Natasha until sunrise. The following days had been troublesome, Morrigan not willing to speak with either of them, snarling at Zevran as he tried to explain that nothing had happened. He wasn't sure about how he could help Natasha and even Leliana … she was the only one he trusted to tell about it … had no idea so far. While Zevran was mostly confused about how to help, the bard had been infuriated about Morrigan's inability to understand Natasha's actions.

The companions reached Zevran's spot and readied for a short break before Mikhail would urge them to walk along, using the last hours of light to make some more miles towards the castle. While Mikhail searched the vicinity of Iona as always in the last days, Morrigan evaded Natasha anew and walked two dozen steps away before sitting down and searching for food in her backpack. The face of the young mage trying with all might to suppress any emotion made Zevran flinch. It was so false.

"Leliana, do you want to …" Alistair's voice died away as the young bard rose up, her eyes full of fury directed at Morrigan. "Wait here." With stomping steps and without her natural gracefulness she walked to the witch, ignored her irritated look, gripped her arm and dragged her away, out of sight and nearly out of hearing range. Nearly, because Zevran was sure that he heard the noise of a very powerful slap and two very angry female voices. Hell, he would really like to sneak nearer and play little mouse in the bush but he was afraid to do so. Surely it was healthier to stay here.

All companions tried to show neutral faces as the two women came back some minutes later. Leliana walked to Alistair, pressed a very urgent kiss on his lips and behaved afterwards as if nothing had happened, the young ex-Templar looking puzzled and smiling sheepishly. In the meantime Zevran looked asquint at Morrigan. The witch had a very red cheek and her lower lip was split. To his surprise she didn't look angry, only pondering.

As they left half an hour later Morrigan shortly stopped besides Zevran. "If you ever get a new invitation from her, you won't follow it or … you understand?" Zevran smiled broadly, but his answer was interrupted by a snarl. So he could only follow her silently, the smile not leaving his face for hours.

_Korcari Wilds, 9:30, Haring 4th Afternoon_

Fergus looked at the letter he received from his brother. For a long time he pondered about the news, and then he collected his chasind leaders. "It is time for me to go to Denerim. My brother needs me there. Make sure the scouts watch all movements of the darkspawn army and send the news to Redcliffe Castle. The Arl's brother, Bann Teagan, will stay there to coordinate things. "

The chasind leaders agreed and Fergus went to his tent to collect his belongings.

_Brother, I'm coming._


	47. Chapter 47 Soldier's Peak

**Soldier's Peak**

_On the northern road, 9:30, Haring 7th Midmorning_

"What do you think, Sten?" Mikhail had been watching the Qunari while he searched between the burned wagons for signs.

"The fight had been more than two weeks before. Two wagons are missing at least, as are many of the people. Six men they burned, but there had been more than twenty humans. The attackers were bandits, not darkspawn."

Mikhail nodded. "So the rumors about bandits on the northern road were founded. But I can't imagine what bandits want with so many prisoners. A few women I could understand, but not more than a dozen captives."

"We'll find out," Alistair assumed. "I would assume they camp in the same castle we seek."

"The signs point that way at least," Sten agreed.

Following the small trail from the northern road into the surrounding hills the companion saw their target at last. On a large hill, the top being a large flat square stood an impressive castle erected from granite. Around a massive main building circled a wall with four towers, two of them flanking an open gate. The drawbridge was on the ground, the portcullis open. It looked like a nice invitation but two columns of smoke showed that the castle was not uninhabited.

"Surely they have watch posts on at least one tower. We wait for the night before advancing. Zevran, Lel, you two try to neutralize the guards before we others draw near. Now get some rest. And no fire, certainly." Nodding to Mikhail's plan all tried to fetch some sleep, only Leliana and Zevran stalking nearer the castle to get some information about its layout.

"Morrigan?" Natasha waited unsecure a few steps away from the witch, biting her lip and getting more nervous by the second.

"Yes, what it is … sister?" Morrigan had waited with her answer on purpose, adding the word sister only on impulse. But as she saw the relief in Natasha's face, Morrigan felt better for making this peace offer.

The mage kneeled beside her, gripping nervously a small package between her hands. Morrigan had no idea of the content, but looked at the small ring on Natasha's hand. Observing the look Natasha smiled weakly. "After you freed me from the darkspawn you gave me this ring. And I was very grateful about it."

Morrigan frowned "it was only to better find you if you ever …"

"Yes, I know. It is very practical indeed. But … I wanted to thank you with something, something nice, not practical, something beautiful for a beautiful friend." With that she pushed the package into Morrigan's hand, pressed a hasty kiss on her cheek and hurried away without waiting for a reaction.

Dumb-folded Morrigan looked after her. It took long moments before she was able to open the small package. She was hard pressed to hold her neutral face as she realized what the blinking content was: a mirror, a very beautiful and valuable mirror. It seemed to be very new, crafted only weeks before perhaps, dwarven-kind and very likely to the mirror she had lost years before. Natasha certainly found a goldsmith in Orzammar and ordered him to craft this mirror especially for her. Hastily she whisked the drops of water on the mirror away, hoping no one had realized them not to be rain drops.

Feeling watched Morrigan couldn't help but to look up at Natasha, the mage waiting anxiously for a reaction. After some long looks Morrigan felt a knot open in her breast and smiled at Natasha, forming a silent _thank you_ with her lips.

_Soldier's Peak - Courtyard, 9:30, Haring 8th Early Morning_

The disgusting smell of burned flesh permeated the castle. Mikhail watched the pile of corpses in the ditch. Eleven bandits they had killed, three others taken prisoner. Zevran and Sten had taken the task to question them about their plans and why they lived here, took prisoners in such a number. Only two prisoners they found so far. One was woman in very bad shape, raped and beaten countless times as it seemed from various bandits. The other, a boy of twelve, was only in barely better shape, being forced into cooking and cleaning for them, many scars and bruises telling of the treatment.

Iona tried to soothe them, Warrick helping very much, the Mabari Iona named after the other one which saved her life months ago. While Sten dragged the prisoners away – swiftly killed after the interrogation ended – Zevran explained what happened so far.

"They sold the prisoners, sold them for money, potions and weapons. They never entered the main building, lived only in the towers. Their buyer seems to be a mage named Avernus, living in the main building, never leaving it. They had much fear about the building. Something about undead guarding it and this mage killing their former leader before they made a treaty. They didn't know for what this Avernus needs prisoners."

Mikhail gathered the companions. "Iona, please stay with Warrick and the freed prisoners at the gate-tower. I don't want them to see what we'll find indoors. I fear for the worst about the prisoners. Leliana, you'll stay too." The Bard only nodded. "We others go in and search this Avernus. He has much to explain."

_Soldier's Peak – Main Building, 9:30, Haring 8th Midmorning_

Bones clattered on the floor, the last undead in the main hall destroyed at last. So far there had been more new questions than answers, while they searched the ground floor, crushing skeletons wearing armor and weapons of former grey wardens, most scrolls and books destroyed, paintings and tapestries burned.

What had happened here decades ago? Mikhail knew that this had been an outpost of the wardens before they had been thrown out of Ferelden for more than a century. Not till Maric allowed them back there was a new Commander of the Wardens. But why had the king's troops left the castle and not taken it as their own?

A new door, a new room, a new undead. But this time it didn't attack immediately. Slowly it turned around, a female corpse but in way better shape than the skeletons before, wearing the armor of a warden-commander. "Sophia." Levi walked in front of them, shaking. "Grandmother Sophia, I'm Levi Dryden, your grand-grandchild." Hoping for a positive reaction the man kept silence after these words.

"This creature has been Sophia Dryden. This creature has some of her memories. This creature wants to leave this place. Will you help me to leave?" The voice was coarse and without any emotion. For a moment Levi was shocked, and then his curiosity was too strong. "Sophia, what happened? Please explain me what happened in this castle, why had there been these fights …"

The creature pondered for a minute, collecting memories as it seemed. "There were fights. Soldiers attacked. This creature ordered her men to defend. There were too many attackers. This creature ordered her mage to cast spells. He opened a door into the fade. It allowed me to come to this place. We killed the attackers. But the mage didn't allow us to leave. We killed the soldiers, killed Sophia, but still we couldn't leave. The mage is upstairs. I can't reach him. Kill him, that I may leave this place."

"You're a demon, we can't let you leave," Alistair interrupted. Sophia turned to him. "Why not? I only want to explore, see new places, feel new emotions. I have been here for so long, felt nothing. I only want to be alive anew." Mikhail laid a hand on Levi's shoulder. "This isn't your ancestor anymore; it is only her body now giving shelter to something from the fade." Levi nodded, his face showing a grim expression. "Don't allow it to go away."

"We won't."


	48. Chapter 48 Avernus

**Avernus**

_Soldier's Peak – Main Building, 9:30, Haring 8th Midday_

Mikhail rested a hand on Levi's shoulder and looked down on the corpse that once had been Sophia Dryden. "We have to clear the castle but afterwards she'll get a funeral. She deserves it. I'm sure whatever she did, that she only wanted to help the people of Ferelden. Hold her in your memory that way: a brave woman trying her best."

Levi nodded not holding back his tears. "I really hoped that I would find another explanation. But now I have to look forward. At least she'll find peace now."

Not long after leaving Sophia's room the companions stumbled over a large double-door shielded with a force field. "Now that's looks interesting. Avernus, we're coming. "After a nod of Mikhail Natasha began to analyze the field. Morrigan and Wynne settled back, waiting for the mages results as she had way more knowledge about this type of magic.

"It is very strong. Avernus prepared the door to hold this field far longer than normally wanted. I would suppose that he is able to bypass it somehow. If I open it he'll surely know, so be prepared."

Weaving gesture after gesture with her hands Natasha looked concentrated at the field. It went paler by the moment as the mage unraveled layer after layer, finally breaking it. As they opened the door they looked into a large room, some kind of laboratory. Tables with flasks and potions, books laying around on shelves and the ground, a rack with dozens of scrolls. A disgusting smell permeated the room, a mix of blood and burned flesh. At the right side stood a large cage, now empty.

Pointing Sten to watch the only exit Natasha began to inspect the scrolls and books, leaving it to Morrigan to search the potions and flasks for information. To their surprise no one showed up and the mages had enough time to examine all. "They are dead, the prisoners I mean." Natasha looked up from the scrolls with a stony face. She pointed at the scrolls. "One scroll for every prisoner. He made experiments with them, making exact notes of them, how they fared, what result the experiment had been and how they died. "

Mikhail paled visibly, estimating the number of scrolls. "That must be hundreds of them. How is this possible?" Natasha shrugged. "The writing is the same since the beginning. He had more than a century. As it seems this band was not the first to have a contract with him." Morrigan added: "From these potions I would assume he tried to find new ways to use the blood of darkspawn." Natasha agreed. "Yes, he describes in his scrolls how he tried to enhance the body powers of his 'subjects' and give them new abilities." At last Mikhail stated with a coarse voice. "I understand the reasoning. We wardens use a type of blood power to feel darkspawn. But how could he sacrifice so many humans to … we must stop him."

Exiting the room they didn't need to search for long before they walked into another laboratory this time not empty. A lonely figure stood bowed over a table and scribbled into a book. He seemed old and frail, nearly unable to stand without help, his hair long gone, the robe old and tattered, filthy and smelling. His voice crackled as he addressed the group:

"Visitors I see. You've killed the demon I suppose, the demon which once had been Sophia. And you destroyed my ward, and that was bad. It shielded me from them. You know that there are other demons lingering around? They wait for a chance to leave the castle. Only my wards held them in check. Without me they would go rampant."

With Natasha showing the urgent need to kill Avernus on the spot, it fell on Mikhail to step forward and speak with him. "You're Avernus, I assume. I'm Grey Warden Mikhail. We're here to find out what happened at soldier's peak so long ago. And to drive out the demons from this place so that it can be used again by our order. Are you willing to help us with these cases?"

"Surely I am. Even now I am a grey warden myself. All my studies had only been to help our order, to help in our battles. They will show us new ways to use the blood of darkspawn, to increase our abilities. And about the demons … alone I couldn't stand against them, but together it would be possible to drive them out and strengthen the fade again in this place."

Looking around Mikhail got an uneasy nod from Alistair while Natasha kept silent. "Good, than we are together for this." Remembering something he addressed Avernus: "By the way, as you surely know more about these things: I heard that a grey warden is needed to slay an Archdemon. But I never heard why this is so. Can you explain?" Natasha snapped up now interested in the discussion.

Avernus nodded. "Sure I know. You must understand that an Archdemon is the combination of two things: his bodily form and his soul. Everyone could kill the body. It is tough but nothing speaks against it killing with a sword. But in the moment of its death the soul of the Archdemon gets free, searches for a new body. It will enter the body of a darkspawn nearby and the killing would be for naught. But with a grey warden doing the killing blow, it would be forced to enter the body of this warden. In contrary to a darkspawn body, the warden encloses the soul and both souls – the one of the warden and the Archdemon – get destroying, killing the Archdemon permanently."

"So a warden has to die to kill the Archdemon?" Mikhail asked while Natasha and Alistair changed looks with pale faces.

"Yes, that's the deal."

_Soldier's Peak – Main Building, 9:30, Haring 8th Afternoon_

In spite of their reservations Avernus had been very helpful in destroying the demons and closing the fade. His knowledge was astounding as was his inability to comprehend questions of morality. More than once he looked puzzled when Mikhail and the others rejected his ideas of using darkspawn blood.

"But it would make you stronger, faster and more endurable. You're already tainted; why not use these powers for full advantage?"

Mikhail shook his head desperately. "You'll never understand, I fear. Our points of view are way too much apart. But I thank you for your help in cleaning this castle. Hopefully we can start to use it after the blight, building a strong point for the warden's order again."

Natasha interjected: "That leaves us with the question of your fate, Avernus."

Avernus nodded: "Yes, the alliance is over, I fear. And what happens with me? I only want to research further. Can't you simply leave me alone?"

Mikhail sighed deeply. "Would it only be research we could think about it, but … you killed. You killed hundreds of humans which did nothing to deserve such a fate. And you showed more than once in the last hours that you don't really understand why this was false. I am sorry, but we really can't take the chance to let you alone. The blood of anyone you kill in the future would be on our hands. "

Alistair interjected: "Perhaps we could send him to Orlais, to the wardens there. With them watching …"

"No, bad idea, very bad," Natasha growled. "They're Orlesians and can't be trusted." She shot a smile a Leliana. "Attendants excluded." Leliana bowed curtly. "They would use his studies and I would expect them to present him with further … bodies. And no one, not even sentenced criminals, deserves such a fate. "

Mikhail agreed. "I fear you're right. Avernus …"

The warrior watched as Avernus interrupted the discussion with raising his hand, a red glow forming around them. Before he could end his spell a gurgle escaped his mouth. Trembling he collapsed to the floor, Zevran showed behind him, a bloody dagger in his hand. "I suppose the conversation was over?"


	49. Chapter 49 To Denerim now

**To Denerim now**

_Soldier's Peak, 9:30, Haring 10th Morning_

"I'll fetch my family and next time you visit Soldier's Peak it will be a much happier place, I hope."

Mikhail smiled to Levi's word. He was very pleased to have convinced the trader to open a trading post at the old castle. Surely he had to wait till the blight was defeated but then he hoped to erect a strongpoint of the warden's order at this place. Levi had agreed to care about the woman they freed from the bandits and Mikhail hoped that one day she would forget the terrible events.

The lovely voice of Iona forced him to look at the other freed prisoner. Jon, the twelve-year-old boy they rescued, had been very attached to Iona after the hours they spent together waiting for the companions to return from the main building. The elven maid had begun to teach him the lyre and some songs and her soothing voice had done much to appease him.

"Jon, this I Mikhail." The boy gave the warrior an anxious look. "He looks a bit sinister, but he is really nice. See …" Iona dragged Mikhail near to her face and kissed him. She had planned to make it a short kiss, but couldn't help to follow up with a second, longer one, studying his eyes intensely. Realizing that she had clutched him way to long, she harrumphed hastily and addressed Jon, saying very earnestly, laying her small hand above Mikhail's heart: "If you have any problems and I'm not around, go to him, doesn't matter what it is or what bad jokes you've done. He'll always help you and never hurt you. I trust him and you should, too."

Answering Iona's speech with a puzzled looked, softening by the moment; Mikhail had to work hard to turn his face to Jon: "Iona is right. You're secure now. And every one will help you. Err … maybe apart from Morrigan." Mikhail pointed to the witch and smiled. "She's a bit grumpy and likes her solitude. And never ever drink something Oghren gave you." Iona gave him a rabbit punch and Jon smiled, at least a bit.

_Denerim Gates, 9:30, Haring 16th Evening_

The days on the road had been relatively easy, the weather cold but dry, no bandits attacking them and no soldiers pestering. This would come to an end at the gates, Mikhail feared. He hoped that they could enter the city without being noticed but the group was perhaps too flashy with its mix of human, elves and a Qunari. Trying not to act too eye-catching they formed a line with many other refugees and traders in front of the gates. Waiting for the allowance to enter, Mikhail had more than enough time to inspect the guards. At least they seemed to be ordinary city guards, neither Loghain's nor Howe's men. Perhaps …

"Hey you over there." _Hope dies last_. Mikhail thought and sighed deeply as a group of guards let by a sergeant neared. The sergeant was an elder, grizzled one, the face showing marks of many years of service, the eyes open and with a hint of intelligence not usual for his rank. "Don't be so shy. Come here. And your bunch of scoundrels too." The sergeant pointed to the other companions and for a moment Mikhail thought about fleeing irrespective of the dozen guards accompanying the sergeant. It was just a feeling that convinced him to follow the order.

"Hey, Kylon, what's that? They have to …" A snarl from the sergeant stopped the blabber of the guard corporal who extracted money from all entering the town. _Kylon?_ Mikhail remembered the name, but was unable to put it …

"Hands away from your weapons, stay quiet and follow me." With Kylon besides Mikhail and his men around the group they felt like prisoners. "What …" Alistair's whisper was interrupted by Mikhail's sharp head-shaking? The warrior noticed two men near the gate which watched the group intensely. One of them followed the group while the other rushed away. They entered the market place but instead of crossing it to reach the guard barracks, Kylon turned to the right and ushered them to the court of a large estate.

"That's Arl Eamon's estate," Alistair mentioned with a puzzled look. Kylon looked at him with a stern face. "Sure. I had order to bring you here safely. Enjoy your stay and if you have to start trouble, do it in another part of the town." With a wave of his hand his men gathered and left the companions behind. They had only a few moments to marvel about the events before Teagan entered the court smiling broadly. "There you are. We were anxiously awaiting you."

Alistair grinned. "So this escort was your work? Nice done." Teagan nodded. "I feared there could be problems with the guards. Since we entered the city the estate had been watched and the gates, too, I think. Please come in." Mikhail stopped the companions. "One moment, Teagan, we'll follow swiftly." Waiting for Teagan to depart the warrior addressed Iona, giving her his family ring. "You know the house my mother owns, yes? The own where she resides if she visits Lady Landra, not our large city estate. Go there with the others; show this ring to the servants. I think it would be best if only Alistair, Natasha and I dwell in Arl Eamon's estate. And Leliana. She'll be our messenger. All others go with Iona and follow her orders, understood?"

"I assume this is because you don't trust Eamon and Teagan?" Zevran asked. Mikhail shook his head. "Teagan I trust. He is a very straight man with no ambitions. But his brother … we're no friends, only political allies. Our decision to make me king and not Alistair had done much to cool off our relation. I hope he'll stay to his word but we can't afford to be careless." Alistair seemed to disagree but stayed quiet. "Be careful, Mikhail", whispered Iona as she kissed him goodbye.


	50. Chapter 50 A Conversation among Friends

**A Conversation among Friends**

_Denerim – Arl Eamon's Estate, 9:30, Haring 17th Midmorning_

Natasha felt much better after a long night's sleep. After a short talk with Arl Eamon about the next days and the Landsmeet, the wardens and Leliana had went to their rooms. It had been a huge change to the weeks on the road to have warm and dry rooms with broad beds and fluffy bedclothes. She really could stay in bed for a few days but there was much to do.

Loud voices proclaimed the presence of a guest. Natasha sighed deeply. For a moment she was really hard pressed to walk away but the voices of Mikhail and Alistair convinced her to go on. At the table her fellow wardens were discussing with Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan and Teyrn Loghain. The discussion seemed quite agitated, words like murderer and traitor flowing back and forth freely. To her relief Ser Cauthrien was standing at the back of the room with a stony face. In her shiny armor and with the Summer Sword on her back she was the impressive sight Natasha remembered from Ostagar.

Arl Eamon shot her a puzzled glance as Natasha went to Ser Cauthrien instead of the table, but then he turned his face back to Mikhail. Natasha wasn't really sure whom she despised more: Loghain whom she made responsible for the deaths of Duncan and the other grey wardens or Eamon, who in her eyes tried to shove someone on the throne he treated badly in the past and hoped to be able to manipulate in the future.

Ser Cauthrien looked at the mage, let her eyes wanders over her muscled arms and shoulders and answered Natasha's greetings with a small nod. "Good morning, Ser Cauthrien. I hope you're all well?" For a moment the warrioress hesitated, pondered intensely about the intent of the warm greeting. "Err … yes, all fine … till now." Natasha disregarded Cauthrien's tentativeness. With a short look to the table she spoke silently. "I don't really expect that they will come to an agreement, but I really hope so. That's the reason I stay behind. I'm really not good at polite conversation."

Cauthrien pinched her eyes for a moment, and then she relaxed a bit and tried a broader smile, seeing no deviousness in the mage's eyes. "I heard so. I'm also more the … active part." Natasha grinned. "Perhaps sometime we can try a little sparring. I was hoping for an opportunity since you handed Mikhail his ass in Ostagar." Cauthrien frowned, and then answered the grin. "Yes, I remember. But he had potential. Surely he improved since then. As I heard you were fairly active the last months. About the sparring: I don't think that a warrior and a mage could do this reasonable."

"Oh, I won't be mage … err … sure I'm a mage. What I wanted to say: I wouldn't sling spells around. I learned to wear armor and arms, my magic strengthening my body. It is an old elven magic technique. I fear I'm still no match for someone like you but I shouldn't be more awful than Mikhail the last time. I would like to try it, especially because you're trained to fight with a greatsword."

Nodding slowly Cauthrien responded: "That sounds interesting. I never heard of such a technique. But … why is it important that I fight with a greatsword?" Natasha smiled grimly: "I prepare for a duel I promised someone for the time after the blight. He's very good with it. I don't want to look too shabby when the time comes up."

"You're very … odd. All over Ferelden we battle the blight and you make duel plans?" Natasha sighed: "Yes, it has to be. For now we postponed the duel because the blight is more urgent, but sometime …" Cauthrien made a thin smile: "So he's one of your companions? The Qunari I assume as Mikhail and Alistair are shield warriors." Natasha grinned slightly, not wondering about Ser Cauthrien's knowledge. "Yes, he is. Sten is his name or better his rank but he's called by it."

Ser Cauthrien stayed silent for a while. "Good, we have a sparring date if this all is over. And if we don't have to fight earlier." She pointed to the table. "From their faces I fear our next meeting will not be a pleasant one." Natasha nodded with sorrow on her face. "Yes, the disparity of opinions is too great. And that's even with your Sire thankfully leaving the murderous bastard at home. I mean Rendon Howe."

"Why do you think him a murderous bastard? Surely, he's not a very nice one. Truthfully told I despise him for being a treacherous rat. But he's not a murderer. Perhaps you think about him killing the Couslands but he had reason to do so. They we're in league with the Orlesians. Loghain got credible evidence about their treason. Howe was sent to arrest them and they resisted. He had to kill them. If Mikhail wouldn't be a grey warden, we would drag him before the Landsmeet for treason too."

Natasha gasped several times, looking at Cauthrien as she would be hopelessly mad. "You … you really believe this, yes? I always wondered how someone like you could be part of this. Loghain, yes, he's a statesman. But you …" For some moments Natasha tried to gather her nerves again.

"Do you know what happened at Highever? Howe came to the castle, played the old friend to the family. He waited some days, gave Fergus the time to leave with the bulk of the Cousland army, and then striking at night. You say they are traitors, and that he was there to imprison them. But how does this fit together with his men killing not only soldiers but many servants too? Ransacking the castle chapel? They tried to kill Mikhail in his bedchamber, attacked his unarmored girl-friend, and slaughtered the visiting Lady Landra. Mikhail saw Howe's men raping and killing Oriana, his sister-in-law. They shot Oren, his seven-year-old nephew."

Shocked Cauthrien looked at Natasha. "But … but he said … that can't be …" The mage interrupted her: "The truth will be shown sometime. But certainly that action was not to imprison anyone. Howe planned to extinguish the whole family. If not for Duncan's timely arrival and saving Mikhail, Howe would have succeeded."

Natasha gave the warrioress some time to ponder about the news, and then she continued with a soft voice: "I really don't want to push you or sway your loyalties. But be sure what Howe is. He is a bastard and deserves a death sentence. And he's dangerous, perhaps even for your Sire." Cauthrien stayed silent, her head bowed low. As the conversation at the table broke up, she gripped Cauthrien's arm gently: "I have a last question. You don't have to answer, I could understand you. But I have at least to ask."

Looking sternly in Cauthrien's eyes the mage asked: "Back at Ostagar: was it really essential for Loghain's troops to quit the field? From your vantage point was the situation so dire that it was not possible to win the battle?" Cauthrien blinked several times, her jaws strongly working. At last she answered with a coarse whisper: "I'm not an army leader but a simple warrior. My point of view may be …" Her voice trembled away. "Please don't press the question. I can't …"

With a jolt Cauthrien left her place, nodded a last time to Natasha and followed Loghain out of the estate.


	51. Chapter 51 Lost Friends

**Lost Friends**

_Denerim – Arl Eamon's Estate, 9:30, Haring 17th Midmorning_

Natasha went to Mikhail and Alistair as Teagan and Eamon left the hall. "You had a nice chat with the iron maiden, I suppose?" Alistair grinned. Natasha smiled viciously. „Yes indeed. We spoke about her duel with Mikhail in Ostagar." Getting serious the mage proceeded. "She spoke about Highever." Mikhail's head snapped up. "She said that Loghain had evidence about treason, and that your father was in league with Orlais." She stopped Mikhail's complaint with raising her hand. "I don't believe it, but she does. Or at least the evidence seems to be believable."

Mikhail shook his hand. "That's impossible. He would never betray Ferelden. And if there existed some evidence, then it has been forged, surely by Howe." Natasha agreed. "That's possible. For now we have other things to address, but we should have this 'evidence' in mind for later."

Alistair sighed. "And now, what shall we do next? "

Mikhail smiled: "Now, my dear Alistair, we'll visit your sister."

For a moment Alistair's breath stopped and he went pale. Then the ex-Templar forced a smile on his face. "Alright, so be it family time."

Natasha brooded a moment before she added: "I've something to do in Denerim, make a visit or two. I thought I fetch Leliana for company and we meet at noon again."

Mikhail frowned at her idea but assented: "Be careful. I don't think that Loghain would attack us openly but others …"

_Denerim – Chantry, 9:30, Haring 17th Midmorning – Natasha and Leliana_

Since they entered the chantry a deep peace had overcome Natasha. It had been a long time since she had the time for a prayer and her thirst for words to beloved Andraste had been great in the last weeks, growing from day to day since her time in Andraste holiest temple. While Leliana looked for the chantry's curator and speak with her about some scrolls from the temple, Natasha walked around in silence.

A gasp stopped her walk, a cry quenched by a fist held to a mouth. "Tasha", her name was only a whisper. Stunned by the sight of the small frame before her, Natasha was unable to move for a long while. "Tasha", this time she called the name much louder, causing some upset glares from other sisters around, but she ignored them, run to Natasha and embraced her heartily, streams of tears running down her cheeks. Responding in kind Natasha hold her fast, padded her hair gently. "Lily. You're here. Greagoir didn't tell me what he had done to you."

The young sister hastily led Natasha away in a side room, pressing her onto a chair. She whipped her tears away and couldn't stop to smile. "He was very kind to me after you left. Instead of some faraway abbey he sent me to Denerim. I surely never will reach the status of a Chantry Mother, but I have a good time her. I help educate the children. Could you imagine me a teacher?"

Natasha padded her arm. "I can imagine very well. You were always so kind of heart and your belief in the maker so strong. You have much to give to these children."

For a while the women spoke about the past trying to forget the events at the tower, but then Natasha forced herself to broach the subject of Jowan. Slowly, with a low voice and trying hard to remain steady she told about her meeting with Jowan, how he had come to Redcliffe, his deeds there and his end. "He really tried hard, but … he would never be able to stop using this dark magic. His self-confidence was too low; he could never accept that he would be a whole man without it. Without restrain he would have been a constant danger to all around him and he chose death before tranquility. I really hoped for another solution but it was the best I could give to him. I'm so sorry."

„You should not. He had chosen his own destiny and the end was clear from the beginning. I'll try to remember him as the kind man he was before, the man I loved and who loved me as I'm sure he did. I'll pray for him and for you."

As they parted Lily smiled again. "I never thanked you for saving my life and giving me a future."

"You hadn't too. You're my friend, my oldest friend apart from Cullen. I owe you the same for your patience after …"

Lily embraced the mage. "Please visit me from time to time."

Natasha and Leliana left the chantry, the mage being very silent while Leliana prattled happily about the curator and the knowledge she hoped to find within the scrolls. The mage nodded from time to without really registering the meaning of the words. Then something caught her eye. A group of Qunari stood near the Gnawed Noble Tavern, mercenaries as it seemed. Ordering Leliana to stay back she walked over to the group and talked to their leader for a while, getting directions at something as it seemed.

Being content with that Natasha finally went back to Eamon's estate with Leliana, curious about …

_Denerim – Arl Eamon's Estate, 9:30, Haring 17th Noon_

Alistair was nowhere to be seen. Only a very dark-mood Mikhail sat at the table, playing with his spoon in the soup.

"I suppose the meeting didn't go quite well?"

Mikhail shook his head sorrowfully. "No, she is … she was very unfriendly. I don't know what happened back there in Redcliffe. She is older than Alistair, about ten years. It must have been hard to lose her mother. Perhaps that is the reason that she is so … I think she tried to hurt Alistair with purpose. She was so bitter."

Silently Leliana left the room.

_Denerim – Market Quarter, 9:30, Haring 17th Afternoon_

Following the directions the mercenaries gave her, Natasha reached a sturdy house. The cling-clang of hammers on metal permeated the door and announced to everyone that a smith was working here. The shield besides the door told of finest dwarven weapon crafting. She entered the house and used the time her eyes needed to accustom to the light to watch the dwarven smith working some blade. It was an older dwarf and he was very concentrated in his work, never looking up and only speaking low orders to the younger female dwarf besides him. She seemed to be his daughter.

Another dwarf stood at the counter, waited silently for Natasha to address him. "Good day. I heard that I may buy some of the finest weapons of Denerim in your shop." The mage looked around, her eyes lingering on some of the weapons. The dwarf smiled. "Yes, Danrek is my father-in-law and the best weaponsmith east of Orzammar. Do you have a special wish, milady, a dagger perhaps or a rapier?" Happily chatting with him Natasha bought some daggers for herself, Leliana and Iona and asked for some special whetstones for her spear-staff.

"At last I have a very special wish. I don't know if you can help me and please don't feel insulted for my ignorance. I heard from some Qunari that you sell Qunari weapons too. Now I have a companion, a very good man and strong warrior. He is in need of a greatsword appropriate to his frame and might. Could you help me?"

The dwarf frowned a moment but nodded at last. "You're lucky. We don't work Qunari weapons but I bought some of them a few weeks before. My father-in-law tried to work them for human use but the blue steel resisted. And among them was a greatsword, a bit old and very used but I assure you of its quality." He took a bundle from a shelf, unwrapping a massive greatsword, the hilt much too big to be handled by human hands. Natasha marveled at the sight for a while. "Yes that it is. You're making someone very happy. "

They didn't bicker long about the price and as he pushed the bundle into Natasha's arms the dwarf answered: "Tell him, that Gorim, trader of weapons, wishes him best luck with this blade and that many darkspawn and bandits may be killed thru it."

Stopped cold in her traces Natasha blinked. "Gorim? I don't know if that is a common name for dwarves but … may I ask: Gorim from Orzammar? And are you … I mean 'were' you perhaps a member not of the smith caste but from the warrior caste?"

Gorim glowered at the mage. "You should know that this is a very personal question to ask a dwarf. But yes and yes. I was born in Orzammar and until a good year I had been a member of the warrior caste. Why do you ask?"

"I am Natasha Amell, member of the Grey Wardens. Not a month ago I had been in Orzammar and … in the Deep Roads. It is a long story but I met someone there, someone who told me about her best friend, a dwarven warrior who had been her stout guard and more. Her name was Nemain Aeducan."

Gasping Gorim tumbled and gripped the counter for assistance. "That … that can't be. She must be … dead, dead for a long time. She was sent …"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, she was sent to the Deep Roads as a death sentence. But still she lives. Her body slowly succumbs to the taint I fear, but her will is strong. She helped us fight the darkspawn. She saved my life. Last I saw was her getting back to assist the Legion of the Dead in their fight. She hoped that you found your luck out of Orzammar."

Gorim pressed a smile. "I have. I married a wonderful wife and soon we'll have a child. Sometimes I miss the stone above me but yes, life has been good to me. Thank you for telling me."


	52. Chapter 52 Alienage

**Alienage**

_Denerim – Near the Gate to the Alienage, 9:30, Haring 17th Midmorning_

Absentmindedly Iona stroked her breeches and pushed away some lint and calms from the soft leather. Besides the boulder she sat on stood two large backpacks full of bread and apples. First she thought about some more special foodstuffs, but then agreed to Zevran that the simple mass was worth more to her friends than having some sweets.

She sighed, watching the guards at the closed gate to the alienage. This morning she had raised very early, eager to see her daughter again. Zevran had suggested accompanying her and now she was very happy about it. It had been a shock to hear from the guards that some disease was rampant in the alienage and that the gates had been closed to hinder it from spraying into the other quarters. Iona tried hard to reassure herself, that her daughter was safe, that her friends were all right.

A breath of air tickled her ear. Startled the elven maiden moved her head, smashed it against something behind her. A low cry of pain followed. "Argh … that was unnecessary. You've broken my nose." With pitiful eyes Zevran looked at her, holding his nose with his hand. "Sorry. Let me see." Gently she pushed his hand away, caressed his nose and leaned closer to kiss the pain away. Zevran felt very pleased with him and reacted too late. He saw the glint of malice in her eyes and then Iona bit in the tip of his nose.

Shocked he watched her pull away, smiling broadly. "See? The pain of the smash is forgotten."

Disappointed he shook his head. "You're a very bad girl, Iona. And you spend too much time with Leliana and Morrigan."

Not breaking her smile she shoved one of the backpacks in his arms and lifted the other one. "I suppose you've found another way into the alienage? Go ahead."

"Yes, milady. Sure, milady. Please follow me, milady." Zevran underlined each sentence with a deep bow. Iona responded with a regally bow of her head and stretched out her hand. The assassin pulled her up, his face very close to hers. For a moment they locked eyes as Zevran searched for a sign of invitation, finding none. Stepping back he sighed deeply. "Too bad that you're in a relationship, on top of that to one of the few men I don't want to dabble with."

Iona stroked his chin. "You'll find someone and make her very happy. But I'm spoiled." She switched to a grin. "And Leliana would surely claw out your eyes for harassing me."

"It is all very depressing." Zevran sighed, linked arms with Iona and led her away from the gate.

_Denerim – Denerim Alienage, 9:30, Haring 17th Midday_

The walk thru the alienage had been very saddening. Putrid smoke permeated the narrow alleys, herbs being burned in braziers everywhere. The few elves on the streets walked hunched over, being thin and weak. Hastily Iona led Zevran to a large building and knocked on the door. Only after a while some steps slurped near and the door creaked open. An elder elven male looked at his visitors, trying to sort out who they were. At last a sign of recognition showed on his face and he threw the door open, ushered them into his house.

"Iona, you're back." He embraced her heartily while Zevran looked around. It was a kind of general store, tools and clothes sprawled about the shelves. Some cases stood on the floor with rests of foodstuff. From the side-room where blankets laid on the floor two small kids looked curiously at the visitors.

"Zevran, this is Alarith. He owns the largest shop in the alienage and is an old friend of my family."

"Nice to meet you, Zevran. A friend of Iona is my friend too."

"Hello, little ones. Are you hungry?" Iona pulled two apples from her backpack and held them out to the children. Shy at first they fast surrendered to their empty stomach and snatched the apples away. Iona smiled and reached her backpack to Alarith. "I brought some bread and apples. I trust you to distribute them. We'll try to fetch more."

The shopkeeper hugged her again. "Thank you so much. There are many mouths to feed and way too few foodstuffs since they closed the gate. Sometimes they shove some bread into the alienage but it is not nearly enough for all of us."

"Please tell what's going on. And what is with Shianni, Cyrion and Valendrian?" Whispering she added: "And what about my family, my daughter?"

Alarith waved them to some chairs and cases to sit on. "Since the trouble around wintersend it had been quiet in the alienage." Zevran shot a curious look at Iona but she only shook her head. "Live went on as ever. Many left as servants with the army for Ostagar." Iona paled as she remembered her duty to tell Nessa about her parents. "And then the disease started. It seems that it is some kind of a plague. I'm not convinced that it is really contagious but many are ill now. "Mother Boann tried to help but now the chantry forbade her to enter the alienage again."

"So no one is helping now? No healer is…" Alarith interrupted Iona. "There are. Some mages from Tevinter are in the hall. They've established a hospice there and collect the ill. But many are frightened and don't want to go there because the healers are Shem. Shianni is very outspoken against the mages. She is well as far as I know, but her father is in the hospice as is Valendrian. Your daughter I don't know what happened to her. I see your cousin sometimes but Amethyne I haven't seen in a while."

Iona hugged Alarith farewell. "I've to go. Look after my family. Be careful, Alarith."

She left the building and hurried to the shack where her cousin lived. Elva had always been very unpleasant, envied Iona about her looks and work for Lady Landra. But she was her only relative in Denerim able to provide room for Amethyne. For a moment she stopped at the large tree in the center of the alienage, caressing one of the roots with a sorrow smile on her face. "That has always been her favorite place to wait for me. She loves to touch the tree, feel his 'breath'."

Sighing she passed the hall. Some elves were in front of it. Two human guards watched the entrance while a mage examined the elves. "Why Tevinter?" Zevran mused. "It is a bit odd that they're here, not?" Iona shortly nodded but hurried on. As they reached the shack she knocked on the door, perhaps a bit too loud but her heart pounded in fear. The door opened and the angry face of Elva showed. "Ah, sweet Iona is back. How nice that you found home at last." She remained at the doorframe, showing clearly that she didn't want her 'guests' to enter the shack.

"Hi Elva." Iona whispered. "How are you?" She tried to glance into the shack. No sign of her daughter was to be seen. "Well, in spite of you not showing up anymore. No money to feed your daughter and else. Not that I expected otherwise." Iona tried to disregard the scorn. "Where is she, where is Amethyne? Is she well?"

"Yes, I think so. The little princess had drawn the great prize. She is away, away from this filthy place full of disease and hunger." Iona paled. "Away? What do you mean she is away? You should watch her …" With disgust in her face Elva pulled her arm free of Iona's grip. "Yay, sure. Fill her stomach; buy her shiny clothes while her wrench mother is away." Iona forced herself not to slap her cousin. "Elva, please, where is she?"

"This shem was here. Sent from the son of that Lady you work for." Iona frowned deeply. "Dairren? But he is … he lives?" Elva only shrugged. "Don't know but suppose he does. As I said he sent a servant to fetch the girl, ushered her out of the alienage, away from the disease, paid for her food and clothes. Good for her, is it not? So, now let me alone, I have work to do."

She more or less shoved Iona away, nodded farewell and closed the door. Aghast Iona turned to Zevran. "I thought he died at Highever. And why should he do this?" Zevran tried to soothe her. "Perhaps he wanted her to be safe from all this. We'll see. I suppose you know where he lives?"

Iona nodded absentmindedly. "Sure I know. But I want to visit Shianni first. And Nessa. Come on."


	53. Chapter 53 Painful Memories

**Painful Memories**

_Denerim – Denerim Alienage, 9:30, Haring 17th Midday_

„I'm so sorry, Nessa, that I don't have better news for you. " Iona held Nessa tight against her shoulder, the head of the younger elf leaning against hers, tears tickling on her neck. Then Nessa straightened up, forced her face to settle again.

"I knew it, knew that they must have died. The letter of yours you spoke about never reached me in this turmoil, but with week after week passing no other thing could have happened to them. But it is good to be sure now and to know how they died. Please excuse me; I want to be alone for a while."

Silently Shianni closed the door behind Nessa and turned to Iona and Zevran. She sighed but then her sorrow changed into a soft smile. "It is so good to see you again. We all thought you to be dead. The last doubts were smashed as this servant of your master turned up to drag your daughter away. He told that you've been killed in Highever by the son of this traitorous Teyrn."

Aghast Iona looked at her. "That was his story? Oh no. Mikhail is nothing like that, nothing like Dairren … or Vaughan." Zevran noted the expression of pain and anger on Shianni's face. This Vaughan had to be a very … special case to her.

"Not the Teyrn was the traitor but Rendon Howe. He attacked the castle at night and slew them all even the children, even Lady Landra." She stopped for a moment, memories washing thru her mind, pain plainly visible on her face. "Without Mikhail I would be dead too. Since then he protected me, brought me back safely. He always promised me that I would see my daughter again. And now I'm here, but she is with Dairren."

Suspicion showed on Shianni's face. She seemed not to like the sound of Iona speaking about this Shem. Zevran had the impression that this maiden liked Shem … or Shem nobles … even a lot less than most other elves. "Yes, he took her away to safety as he declared. Even if I assume that Elva only gave her away because of the money, she should be safer there with the disease in the alienage."

Iona pondered about the news. "I really don't understand what Dairren wants. He was always very possessive about me since he rescued me from Vaughan but …" Iona stopped her speech as Shianni's eyes flickered and her face went pale. Zevran looked intensely from one woman to the other. What had happened then, he asked himself? With a very calm voice he pressed the matter.

"Iona, you know that I'm sometimes a bit too loud and humorous, but I'm your friend. It seems to me that here is a story I should know about … and Mikhail should too. As it concerns Shianni too I hereby promise to never reveal anything to someone, but please explain what happened, what the relation is between you and this Dairren."

Shianni looked with begging eyes at Iona, but the elven maiden gripped her hands and pressed them assuring. "He is a friend, Shianni. He knows the meaning of a secret." Shianni breathed a few times heavily, and then nodded weakly.

"A few months ago, at the day of wintersend, there had been a feast at the alienage. The culmination should have been the marriage of my cousin Soris and Valora, his bride from the Highever Alienage. But the moment was interrupted by Bann Vaughan, son of the former Arl of Denerim. Yes, Iona, former Arl because his father died at the battle of Ostagar. Vaughan is the new Arl now. Vaughan came to feast with some 'nobles' and a score of soldiers. He wanted his very own wintersend feast and … rounded up the attending elven women." Shianni needed some moments to soothe while Zevran was hard pressed to not show his pity too openly.

"They took a dozen of us with them, among them Valora, Shianni and me, brought us to his estate." Iona continued, hugging Shianni deeply. "One of the attending nobles was Dairren. He saw me among the captured women. Always had he been after me and now he saw his chance. I think it was some kind of luck, that he urged Vaughan to give me to Dairren as a present. I had more luck than … others."

She bit her teeth together, tried unsuccessful to hold back her tears of memory. Now it was time for Shianni to soothe Iona. "You could have done nothing for us. Sure every one of us hoped it would be her to be rescued, but … we all were relieved to see at least one of us escape." Shianni looked at Zevran, pain in her eyes. "It was a long night. We were … forced … and handed around to … compare our …"

With a coarse voice Zevran stopped her. "Stop it, I can imagine."

Shuddering heavily it took Shianni a while to soothe enough to continue. "At last they throw us out on the street, their lust sated. But … Valora … she was dead. Something snapped in her and she resisted, attacked Lord Braden, one of Vaughan's bootlickers. Vaughan killed her. He whipped her to death in front of us all to cower us into obedience."

More than one picture went thru Zevran's mind, pictures of how he could kill Vaughan slowly and painfully. "The others reached the alienage at last. We tried to forget what happened, but … Soris … he couldn't forget, couldn't forgive himself not to protect his fiancée. He couldn't have done anything but he was unapproachable. He went to the estate, intruded it and tried to kill Vaughan."

Iona took over with a low voice. "Vaughan wanted to hang him openly in the alienage. But I went to Dairren, convinced him to take a stand for Soris. So the verdict was changed to prison."

Shianni nodded. "Yes, he lives. I know it from the elven servants in Vaughan's estate."

Zevran looked intensely at Iona. "I fear I will not like the answer but how did you convince him?"

Unsettled Iona looked at Shianni and Zevran and whispered. "I promised to be his mistress as long as he wanted me to be. Without the events at Highever I would be with him yet, wouldn't be with Mikhail if he hadn't won me."

"Won you," Shianni asked with a raspy voice? "What do you mean?"

Iona pressed a smile. "He saw how unhappy I was and to give me a few more pleasant days he tricked Dairren into a card game and … yes, he won me."

Appalled Shianni looked at her. "Won in a card game? And you remain with him?"

Iona gripped her arm and gave Shianni an assuring look. "Shianni … I love him and he loves me. It is as simple as this." Looking at Shianni she didn't notice as Zevran's face went pale. _I love him and he loves me, simple_. The face of another elven woman passed his mind, holding up her arms, begging for compassion. "We know that it has no future, him a human noble and me an elven servant, but that doesn't change anything about our feelings. Besides from me not being able to see Amethyne and experiencing many fearful moments with Mikhail, Zevran and the others walking around in this war-torn land … these last months had been my happiest time since my husband died. I don't regret any moment of it."

Shianni's hard expression softened after a while. "I understand. And I'm happy for you even with him being a bloody Shem." She smiled shortly. "But if he ever breaks your heart, he had better hide somewhere very far away."

_Denerim – Estate of Bann Dairren, 9:30, Haring 17th Evening_

Zevran awoke, his head throbbing in pain, his hands shackled to the wall. Perhaps he should have tried to escape, he mused. But at the moment Dairren appeared at the top of the staircase with Amethyne besides him he hadn't been sure enough to risk the children's life for his own escape. And a bit it had been the fear of facing Mikhail with the news that Iona was in the clutches of her former master again. Rarely had he felt more hatred than at that moment with Dairren threatening Amethyne to convince Iona to stay in his house.

Coming back to his current situation the elf heard steps nearing. Someone opened the door and paced besides him, gripped his chin and lifted his head. These eyes … Zevran had really hoped to never see them again. "Hello my lovely Zev. It is so sweet to see you again after all this time. We have much to speak about, don't you agree?"


	54. Chapter 54 A Knight in shiny Armor

**A Knight in shiny Armor**

_Denerim – Estate of Bann Dairren, 9:30, Haring 17th Evening_

She followed the man with her eyes as he left the room. Iona felt the fear inside her gut, fear and a great pang of shame. How could she betray Zevran? It had been clear that the assassin would not flee without her, but as Dairren threatened her daughter all spirit to fight had left the elven maiden, leaving behind only a mother trembling in fear for her child. That Zevran's eyes held only pity and understanding as the Bann's men laid him in chains, only compassion and no anger only heightened her shame.

A small and very soft hand stroke her cheek, padded her tears away. An incredible soft mouth pressed a kiss on her temple and small arms embraced her neck. For a long, long time Iona could only hold her daughter against her breast, feel her heart bumping in joy of the reunion.

"Mama, can we go? Go back to Shianni and Uncle Alarith? I don't want to be here. The man is frightening me." With great eyes Amethyne looked in her mother's face. Oh, how these eyes remembered her of him. Why had he died so early? Iona tried to smile. "Soon we'll go to Shianni. I have seen her today, she is fine. And uncle Alarith too. But we have to wait, wait for a friend. He will come and free us. Do you remember the book Lady Landra gave me for you with the stories about knights in shiny armor? He is one of them. With a silvery sword and blazing eyes he will come and rescue us."

Her eyes even wider than before Amethyne looked at her mother and whispered. "Is he strong, strong enough to defeat the soldiers? There are so many of them." Iona nodded. "He is, stronger than an ogre and braver than anyone. And if someone really stops him, he will call for his sister. Natasha is a mage and you never have seen someone who can be so angry. Never would she hurt a child or an innocent, but if you see little sparks around her eyes then dive for cover because the earth will shatter and the storms will rise."

All fear forgotten, her tears dried, Amethyne's eyes hang as hypnotized on her mother's lips. "Once they killed a dragon, not a small one but the largest dragon you can imagine, with wings darkening the sky and a breath of fire burning the ground. Shall I narrate you how they battled this dragon on the snowy peaks of the Frostback Mountains?"

Amethyne could only nod in awe.

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 18st Morning_

Something startled him as he took some bread and cheese on his plate. Mikhail looked up as he heard the barking anew. _Warrick_. The plate clattered on the table as the warrior rushed to the door, ignoring the startled looks of the others. Angry shouts, heavy steps, more barking. Mikhail tossed the door open and entered the courtyard. "WARRICK." He shouted at the Mabari, ushering the guards away and storming besides the angry dog. Mikhail tried to soothe the Mabari, looking for any wounds. A bit relieved he detected none of them.

"Where is she, my boy? Where is the lady?" Mikhail watched the Mabari in confusion as the dog only whined. One of the guards turned around as fast steps entering the courtyard from the street scared him. His crossbow jerked around and then was pushed high, the bolt released to fire in the sky. Morrigan stopped in her tracks, watching as Natasha saved her ass from the overeager guard, glaring at him with lights crackling around her fists. "Don't ever endanger my sister again or you'll regret it." Not waiting for an answer the mage turned to Sten and the others who followed Morrigan. "Where is she, the lady of this dumb ass of a dog?" Warrick let out a second whining, even louder than the first.

_Denerim – Alienage, 9:30, Haring 18th Midmorning_

"Bad idea had it been to come into the alienage without an elf. No one wants to talk to us." Leliana had to nod to Mikhail's words while Natasha stayed silent. "I really hoped that they would speak at least to me but something really frightens them," the bard responded.

More than two hours the three companions had been in the alienage, trying to gather some information about Iona and Zevran. But no one answered their questions. Even the traders didn't want to sell their wares to them, grumbled only 'to get lost'. And from minute to minute Mikhail got more agitated, being worried about Iona without peer.

"Who are you, Shem? Bored and trying to get some amusement from watching us pointy-ears die?" Turning around Mikhail saw a lone elven woman glaring at him. Looking around he saw no back-up mob, not even some covered archers. She was brave, he had to admit. And the look of her … he remembered Iona talking about … "You're Shianni, right, daughter of Cyrion?" Puzzled the elf looked at the warrior intensely, nodded shortly.

"Iona told about you. I'm Mikhail." A sign of recognition passed Shianni's face. "Ah, I see she told you about me too. I hoped only the good things." His strained try to sound happy was washed away by a new wave of concern. "Please, tell me, have you seen her? She went to the alienage yesterday to visit her daughter and she has not returned. We're concerned about her. I'm concerned." He added with a low whisper.

Glaring intensely at him, Shianni pondered about the human warrior for a moment. Then she reached a decision and ushered them into the house of her father. With plain words she described how Iona had been here a day before and went to the house of Dairren. "She only wanted to fetch her daughter. If she really hasn't returned, than this Dairren …"

Mikhail clenched his fist. "We'll go to his house and ask; we'll search his house if his answer is not satisfying." Shianni looked fearful. "Be careful. He has many soldiers, even more since Arl Howe stationed a guard there." Mikhail's face turned to stone. "Arl Howe? What has he to do with Dairren?" Shianni shrugged. "I don't know, but from his former servants I know that since he returned from Highever there have been additional guards wearing the crest of Arl Howe. The same is with the estate of Arl Vaughan, since he took over the title of his father. Every corner of the city you see his soldiers now."

Mikhail nodded gravely. "I'll be careful, but I'll rescue her and Amethyne. I promised her that she would live happily with her daughter again since we fled from Highever. Twice she rescued my life, it is the least I could do for her to try everything now." He felt the scrutinizing look of Shianni resting on his face. "Is this the only reason to go for her, gratitude?" Fetching for words Mikhail could only stare quietly at Shianni, her stony expression melting as she saw the emotions wandering about his face. She padded his forearm shortly. "I really don't like you Shemlen, but perhaps you're an exception."


	55. Chapter 55 Unexpected Help

**Unexpected Help**

_Denerim – Near Bann Dairren's Estate, 9:30, Haring 18th Midday_

Mikhail pressed his body in a niche between some crates. _Where are they? It shouldn't take them so long to go here_. While Leliana looked around the estate of Bann Dairren he had sent Natasha to fetch the others. Until now he had no plan how to rescue Iona and her daughter. The creaking of leather startled the warrior but before he could whirl around with the hand on the hilt of his sword, he felt an assuring grip on his shoulder.

"No need to rush. I hadn't expected to see you when my corporal told me about some suspicious person sneaking around the Bann's estate." Slowly Mikhail turned around and looked into the amused grin of Sergeant Kylon. "I hope you're not preparing some robbery or similar thing I would have to intervene? I really don't like to interrupt my lunch because some nobles start their own little blight in my district."

A low thud let Kylon look up and onto the beautiful legs of Leliana. The bard had jumped down on a casket from the next roof, smiled wickedly at Kylon and ruffled his hair. "Nice to see you again, Kylon." Gripping her waist the sergeant helped her down on the street. "It is always a pleasure, milady. May I be of any help?"

"That would be very kind of you, my knightly sergeant." Her smile vanished as Leliana explained the situation to Kylon. "… and so he imprisoned her daughter. We fear that he extorted her staying with threatening her daughter's life. So we can't simply march in his estate and search for her."

Kylon rubbed his chin. "That's a terrible situation. And I'm not able to help you directly, not without more evidence about what happened." He padded Leliana's cheek. "But don't be disappointed. I know someone who could certainly help. She is used to solve delicate problems and has the men in the case you need some fighting power." He fetched a piece of paper from his jacket and wrote something on it with a charcoal. "Go to the pearl and look for Captain Isabela. Tell her that I sent you and that I would be grateful for her help."

_Denerim – The Pearl, 9:30, Haring 18th Early Afternoon_

A thud awakened her. Something slid down the wall on the other side of the door. Her head throbbed. A single ray of light broke thru the curtain and pain erupted. Slowly she turned her head and vomited in the bucket Macy surely had put beside her bed. The door opened and two figures came in, her brain unable to grasp who they were.

"Hello Captain." A sweet voice but she was in no mood to listen. The cushion she threw was caught by the red-haired one. She sniffed at it. "Rose of Antiva, isn't it, classic but a bit cheap?"

Isabela groaned, pulling her sheet over her head. "Leave me alone."

Forceful steps went to the window and pulled the curtain open. The brilliant light of the afternoon sun flooded the room. A hand pulled the sheet away and seconds later someone drowned her with cold water. Gasping Isabela went up, her eyes wide open. Furious she looked at the woman, clad in mail armor with a sword at her side: "Seems to be that I've luck. You're awake."

Ignoring the furious sputtering the woman threw pants and shirt at Isabela. "Get up, we need your help." Isabella snarled: "Who are you? Or no, don't answer, get out before I kill you." The red-haired one grasped the other woman's arm: "Perhaps you should be …" The dark-haired one broke free and clasped her hands, the sound sending another wave of pain thru Isabella's head.

"If there aren't any other Captains around with the name of Isabela and originating from Rivain then you should know some sleazy elf called Zevran. We need help to save his hide and Kylon said you could be of help. Sober up and come down, we'll wait with a breakfast."

Ushering Macy away, the large and broad-shouldered man looking angry but cautiously at the dark-haired, she linked arms with the red-haired one and left the room. Scrutinizing the split lip and blue eye of Macy Isabela threw the empty water keg at him. "Go, fetch me some water." As the man hurried away, Isabela whispered: "Zevran."

_Denerim – Near Bann Dairren's Estate, 9:30, Haring 18th Early Evening_

"So you're a mage, yes? I've never seen a mage with such a long …" Natasha turned around and eyed Isabela with an icy stare. "I'm not interested." The captain made a disappointed sigh, then she pointed at Leliana "And what about …" The mage shoved Isa's finger down. "She would perhaps, but her boy-friend would surely break your legs for trying. He is humorous but not that humorous."

Isa looked intensely at Alistair, the ex-Templar faking to hear nothing of the conversation. "He could join …" Leliana giggled at Alistair's coughing. Natasha smirked: "I see why Zev likes you."

She smiled back broadly. "You know him good? I mean 'know' …" Natasha primed her lips. "I know what you mean. If you have to know: yes, I slept with him. Or better: he with me because I was unconscious at the moment." Isabela's face prompted a grin on Natasha's mouth. Blinking she continued: "Was for pure medical reasons." Isabela laughed: "That story I have to hear later."

A small weasel-like man entered the lane. "What is it, Smuggles? Have you seen her?" The man nodded. "Yeah, she's in a room at second floor. The girl is with her and a guard, four others on the corridor. Nothing about this elf you mentioned." Isabela frowned and asked Mikhail: "What now? I would suggest we go in, rescue her and interrogate the guards about Zev." The warrior nodded. "Can you get us on the roof?"

_Denerim – Bann Dairren's Estate, 9:30, Haring 18th Late Evening_

Mikhail felt a bit odd with some soft leather armor around him instead of the familiar metal. But with full armor he wouldn't be able to climb the rope and surely he would be much louder. Besides Smuggles Isabela, Leliana, Morrigan and Natasha had accompanied him, the rest waiting in the lane.

As Leliana picked the lock, Mikhail gave signs for Morrigan to cast a sleep spell at the guards. Then Isa and Smuggles would enter first. A low creak alarmed the guards but before alarm could be raised, Morrigan threw her spell. Isabela rushed forward, following Smuggles to the locked door. Something was amiss. She had a really bad feeling but was unable to put a finger on it. Smuggles fetched the key from one of the guards and opened the lock. Mikhail opened the door and rushed into the room, coming to a halt as he watched the single guard pressing a knife at Iona's throat.

"Get out or I'll …" without waiting for the guard to complete the sentence, Iona scrambled to the left, leaving the guard wide open for Natasha's force spell, crashing her into the wall. A second later she was encased in magical shackles, while Mikhail rushed to Iona and pulled her into his arms. Enjoying the moment Iona turned him around to the girl: "Amethyne, this is Mikhail. Mikhail, this is my daughter Amethyne, light of my life." The suspicious looked melted to a smile as Mikhail went down on a knee and pressed his hand against his heart. "I'm at your service, milady."

"I really don't want to interrupt this homely moment but we have to find Zevran." Isabela badgered. Iona inhaled deeply: "Zevran. He's not here. Dairren said something about selling him. Some group he called the Crows." Isabela hissed. "Damn it. Okay, out of here, we'll find him soon enough."

Mikhail gripped Amethyne's hand and led her and Iona into the corridor. Steps neared, climbing the stairs. A wimpy voice wept: "Don't hurt her. You've promised …" Soldiers with the crest of Arl Howe came into sight. Isabela went forward to intercept them, Leliana at her side. As Mikhail started to follow them, a cry of Amethyne warned him. He whirled around, evaded a stab from the assassin. The woman, clad in black leather, slashed at the girl to get her out of the way. But Amethyne reacted too late, the dagger wounded her neck. Blood sprayed around, shocking everyone including the assassin. As she attacked Mikhail anew a crushing prison spell enwrapped her, causing painful sobs as the assassin succumbed to the magic.

Morrigan rushed to Amethyne, tried to stop the blood. Without waiting Natasha stormed to the stairs, ignored her fighting companions and whirled Howe's soldiers away with massive waves of magic. "Leliana, fetch him alive." She pointed at Dairren, the young man standing shocked at the foot of the stairs. With Isa and Smuggles at her flanks and Mikhail carrying Amethyne the angry mage battled her way thru the hall. The oaken doors crushed open and the sight of a Qunari gone berserk compelled the last soldiers to flee.

"Wynne, please …" The old mage hurried at Mikhail's side. While the group stood guard Wynne tried all to rescue the girl, but failed hopelessly. "I … I don't know. Some kind of poison, it prevents healing magic." Leliana tried to hold Iona back, the elf going to the ground in tears. As even magical potions didn't provoke a positive reaction, Wynne tried to stop the bleeding. But all could see that the girl would die within minutes without effective healing magic.

_That can't be._ Natasha trembled_. Not a child, not Iona's daughter. She'd done so much, not deserved this after all what … Maker_. "Sten, carry her. Mikhail ahead, to Eamon's house." The mage pushed Wynne away and ignored all questions. "Go, Sten, go. Hurry." Puzzled but hoping that Natasha hadn't gone mad the companions followed her orders, left Dairren's estate and rushed to Eamon's house, Mikhail sprinting ahead to get the doors opened.

Trying not to look at the child, Natasha prayed silently. _Please, don't let her die_. The estate, her room, her backpack. Panting Sten watched her, put the death pale girl in the arms of her mother, while Natasha rummaged thru her belongings. "Where is it, where …" With a loud cry of joy the mage fetched a silvery vial, pulled the stopper away and pushed the vial into Iona's hand.

"Healing potions didn't help" Morrigan wondered. "Give it her, slowly." Natasha urged. Iona locked eyes, understanding grinding into her face. "That's from … but that should be for y..." Natasha waved impatiently. "It is to save someone deserving to live. Who could count more for that than your daughter? Go on. I'll fetch more if needed. I've reached the urn once, and I can do a second time."

With a warm smile to Natasha Iona turned to her daughter and poured the potion into her daughter's mouth.


	56. Chapter 56 Crow Hunting

**Crow Hunting**

_Denerim – Gnawed Noble Tavern, 9:30, Haring 19th Late Morning_

They had left Arl Eamon's estate for a visit of the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Leliana would be waiting there with Isabela and her Antiva Crow contact. For a moment Mikhail's mind walked back to Iona, the elven maiden watching her daughter's recovery at the estate. Wynne had been sure that the girl would be back to full health in a few days.

"I didn't know that you have …" Mikhail addressed Natasha unsure how to go on.

Natasha smiled shortly. "We had been three at the temple to complete the last test. Each of us had the right to get a single pinch of ashes. Alistair's went to Eamon; Iona took hers to save your life."

"And you … you gave yours to save Amethyne. I can never compensate for that. I … thank you Natasha." The warrior's voice trembled. He had no idea how he could live further with Iona mourning her daughter. Natasha scowled at him. "Certainly you can. And certainly you know how you could." Mikhail instantly knew what the mage wanted and made a grimace. "It can't be, you know that …" The mage waved impatiently, opened the tavern door and entered the large room.

Natasha right crushed into another woman, a young noble with raven-black hair and stunning green eyes. And the smell … the mage instantly knew what this smell was. "Delilah." Mikhail went rigid as did the young woman. They looked at each other, both more than once trying to say something, unable to go further. With a short smile Natasha dragged them away from the door and ushered them to a table. "I suppose you know each other? Happy to meet you, Delilah. I'm Natasha Amell, mage, grey warden and sometimes nurse of this young man."

Delilah pressed the outstretched hand gently, wondering shortly why Natasha sniffed and frowned deeply. "I'm Delilah Howe." As she saw Natasha's reaction Delilah went on. "My father is Arl Rendon Howe. A long time ago Mikhail and I had been … good friends." A shudder went thru her body, followed by another of Mikhail. The warrior gripped her arm, padded it softly. "I hope you mean 'we have been friends for a long time'."

A mix of emotions, mostly uncertain joy and unbelief, crossed her face. "I didn't dare to hope … I heard so many gruesome stories about what happened at Highever. How could you ever forgive me for being … what I am?" Mikhail pulled her into his arms. "What you are? A wonderful young woman I wish only the best. I totally believe … no, I know … that you had nothing to do with those events." His face shortly turned to stone. "I can't and I will not forgive your father what he'd done. And even if I'll not drag him before the landsmeet to be condemned then my brother would. Yes, Fergus lives, Delilah. But neither of us will do you any harm or doom your for your father's deeds."

"Someone is waiting for you, Mikhail." The mage pointed at Leliana, the bard waving impatiently.

Mikhail stood up, "Please excuse me, Delilah. We'll see us later." After a few steps he came back, embraced the young woman and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm really enjoyed seeing you again, Delilah, and I hope you'll find your luck when all this is over. Please stay as you are."

He looked at Natasha but the mage waved him away. "Go ahead; I'll have something to talk about with Delilah. You know: girls' talk." Frowning he left the women and followed Leliana in a back room.

Uneasy Delilah looked at Natasha, the mage pondering for a while. Slowly she began to tell her story, how she met her mentor Crellack, and the voyage to Denerim, the imprisonment thru the blood mage. How he killed Crellack and raped her. After the liberation thru Cullen she finished. Only a handful of persons knew this story so far but Natasha felt some relief in telling it to this woman. Very clenched at the beginning Delilah relaxed as the story developed. Natasha had been sure that she guessed right what the reason of that smell around Delilah was.

Nearly unhearable Delilah whispered. "You feel it, right?" Natasha nodded, padded her hand. "Do you want to tell?" Hastily wiping away her tears Delilah answered. "My father never allowed us to disagree with his wishes. Thomas had never a problem with that, but it drove Nathaniel away. He hadn't been at home for several years now. Mikhail and I had been good friends but never in love as my father hoped. At Mikhail's eighteenth birthday my father required me to … seduce him. I declined. He was furious. It had been the first time he flogged me."

The last words, very low and nearly unhearable, made Natasha shiver in rage. _The first time it had been, surely not the last. That pig of a man. Of a father._ "Two months ago he ordered me to come to Denerim. He wanted me to marry the Arl of Denerim, Vaughan. I tried to resist, hoped that he wouldn't dare to punish me here. Even if it is his right as a father it wouldn't look good with his daughter training whip marks. But he has a mage with him. Somehow he forced me to … to betroth with Vaughan and to …"Shudders went thru her body, making her shake nearly uncontrollable. Hastily Natasha hugged Delilah, pressed the young woman against her shoulder. In silence the two women sat there, pictures of bad memories washing thru their minds.

At last Delilah straightened up and wiped her nose with her handkerchief, wiped away the tears and ruined make-up. She pressed a very weak smile, kissed Natasha on the cheek and nearly fled the tavern. Natasha was left behind in stunned silence.

_Denerim – Gnawed Noble Tavern – Back-Room, 9:30, Haring 19th Late Morning_

Leliana closed the door behind Mikhail. Isabela smiled shortly, sitting on a trunk near the window. A man looked sternly at the warrior. _Nearly fifty, bald, athletic, short sword, daggers at boot and forearm, clothes of a wealthy trader_. Pushing the thoughts away Mikhail concentrated on the face of the man.

"My name is Ignacio. As Isabela surely told you I'm a trader from Antiva. Perhaps you've seen my business in the market district." The nearly bald man smiled, his friendliness not reaching his eyes.

Donning a plain face Mikhail responded. "I'm grey warden Mikhail. A friend of mine has some problems with some … former friends of him, stemming from Antiva as you. Captain Isabela told me that you perhaps could be able to act as a mediator."

Ignacio shook his head, his face a show of sorrow. "I would like to do that, really, especially for someone with your … future possibilities. But not all Antivans have the same master. Those men you're looking for have nothing to do with my business here. They follow the orders of a man called Taliesin. He and Zevran had been very good friends as I recall, at least until some … let us say personal problems around a woman. Anyhow he seems to be determined to bring Zevran back to Antiva. I fear reaching that city would be very unhealthful for him."

Mikhail pondered about the information. "Perhaps if not a mediator you could be someone giving directions to a visitor of the city, confused by all these streets and places. What places should such a visitor attend to see interesting people? Directions would be very helpful and would be remembered in case of later … business."

Ignacio smiled and gave an answer …

_Denerim – Haven, 9:30, Haring 19th Late Evening_

The fight had gone badly from the start. With only Leliana, Natasha and Isabela besides him Mikhail had entered the ship, the others waiting a hundred paces away and Sergeant Kylon averting them trouble with the guards. But the resistance had been much stiffer than expected, many daggers cutting their skin, the ingested antidotes fighting the effects of weapon poisons. At least Natasha had been able to shackle the crows' leader and kill their mage with a mana clash, but slowing they had to retreat because of the sheer mass of enemies.

Then the cavalry came in form of Sten and Oghren, sword and axe spilling havoc in wild circles. More than one crow went down with one of Lel's red-feathered arrows in neck or breast. The last crow barely dead Natasha hurried downstairs, Morrigan following swiftly. There he was, shackled, bruised, but alive. A weak smile crossed his lips. "Ah, there you are. And I feared you would miss all the fun." Natasha only grinned and watched as Morrigan inspected the wounds. "It is nothing. Nothing which could not be healed by a salve of yours and a night with this marvelous mage", Zevran smiled.

Morrigan growled but Natasha only slapped Zevran. "I would know another cure to end the pain. It would include Morrigan's hands and your neck." With a pitiful voice the elf answered: "You're such a cruel woman. And that to a nearly dead man." Padding his cheek Natasha ascertained: "You won't die. I promised it to Iona. Yes, she's free from that bastard. And it is good to see you, Zev." Ignoring the frown on Morrigan's face Natasha kissed Zev's cheek and ordered Sten to carry the elf on deck.

"What shall we do with this man? Drag him away to interrogation?"

Leaning heavily on Sten's side Zevran looked at Taliesin, his former friend still shackled with magic. "No, he wouldn't answer. And he is too dangerous to let free or hold prisoner. I'm very sorry, dear friend. You should have stayed in Antiva." Slowly Zevran walked away, halting his steps only a second as Taliesin dropped dead to the floor. _That was for you, Rinna._


	57. Chapter 57 Broken Chains

**Broken Chains**

_Denerim – Cottage of Eleanor Cousland, 9:30, Haring 21st Late Morning_

Zevran watched the quiet delight the companions shared this morning. After breakfast Iona and Wynne went to kitchen to make the dishes, Mikhail and Alistair repaired their armor. And over all was the voice of Natasha, weaving stories about their adventures for Amethyne. She told from the moment her mother saved Natasha with an arrow in the eye of the dragon. She spoke about the moment Iona denied to kill the cursed elven huntress and saved her with breaking the curse. And she narrated in wonderful pictures the scenery at the temple, the tests and how Iona touched the urn of Andraste, how she rescued Mikhail with the ashes. The story was so intense that Zevran wished he would have been there and not waited at the entrance.

"You told that really wonderful, Natasha." The mage smiled at Leliana's compliments.

"Bah", Morrigan snarled. "She only told what happened. It is easy to spin great stories about your mother. But she forgot to tell the one really impressive thing, the one you have to understand and remember." The witch glared intensely at Amethyne. "Only a few months ago she had been a servant maid, a woman and an elf. Ask around in the city and almost everyone will tell you that this is not the stuff to create heroes. Look at Mikhail, warrior from a noble house, or Natasha there, mage from the circle. That are people you expect to do great things, but surely not an elven serving wench."

Amethyne frowned deeply but Morrigan was not impressed. "Don't you agree? Perhaps you have made the first step. But even most other elves would agree with that opinion. I would expect that even your mother had nether dreamed about what could happen as she left Denerim." Locking eyes with the girl Morrigan continued in a dread whisper:

"But there at Ostagar, in that moment with Mikhail lying on the ground wounded and helpless, she didn't give in to fear and despair as most women would do. She did what had to be done. With only that mongrel at her sight she dragged Mikhail away from the battlefield with dozens and hundreds of darkspawn around her, thru an unknown wilderness with wolves and bears and giant spiders. Can you imagine how heavy this ox of a man is with his armor and weapons and all? And your tiny mother dragging him? It was only her will that allowed her to leave it behind her, her station, the low expectations of others and the weakness of her body."

With her index finger Morrigan knocked against Amethyne's forehead. "It is only your will that gives you boundaries. It was that moment I saw her the first time, nearly unconscious and still not willing to give in. Since then I venerate her." The silence of the last minutes was broken by more than one gasp. With an icy stare the witch looked around: "Should anyone tell her so, I would have to kill him, slowly and painfully." Showing a smile only for a moment she finished: "If you're ever searching for a paragon for your life, look at your mother."

With head held high she left the room, ignoring the look of Natasha, the mage gleaming, her cheeks blushed with joy about this moment of emotion. Slowly Alistair added: "I've never expected that there could be a time I would fully agree with something this swamp witch could say. But wonders will never cease."

_Denerim – Shack of Shianni, 9:30, Haring 21st Early Afternoon_

"Nothing changed," Shianni sighed. "They take in sick people or those they declare as such. Most people feel sick these days hence there is no shortage of elves knocking at their door. They have taken over a large dwelling house behind the hospital at the border from alienage to port."

"How many mages and men there are?" Iona had brought Mikhail, Natasha, Morrigan and Zevran with her to solve the problems in the alienage if possible. While they spoke about the disease Morrigan was inspecting the herbs they found burning in the burning pods on the streets.

"There are three mages all the time, another visiting them, four guards outside the house, others surely within and at least four at the dwelling house."

"It is a bit much for a simple medical mission out of charity, is it not?" Zevran wondered.

"And this has nothing to do with charity." Morrigan pushed some of the herbs on the desk. "This mixture does nothing to enhance your health as these mages declare. It only causes headache, cough and running nose. I say we go in there and …"

Mikhail interrupted. "I really agree with you that we should go in there, but surely not with you and Natasha leading the way." He looked around and at last his eyes rested on Zevran. As Mikhail smiled at him wolfishly the ex-assassin shifted nervously on his chair. "I really appreciate your smile, Mikhail, but I fear it is not out of admiration that you show it."

The warrior laughed deeply. "Yes, admiring I do. You're really excellent, the excellent next victim of this painful disease hoping to find a cure with the mages. I hope you trained your coughing recently?"

_Denerim – Hospice, 9:30, Haring 21st Early Night_

Poking disgusted in his porridge Zevran asked himself why he had admitted Mikhail to go thru with his plan? After showing up at the entrance it had only been minutes before he had been stripped of all belongings and pushed into this cage. Four cages, ten elves besides him. They had no idea what happened to the others, only that regularly there were elves send to the dwelling house, one of them the day before had been Cyrion, Shianni's Uncle. Three mages and seven guards he had seen. Now most of them were sleeping.

And it was time to begin. With a smile he fetched his hidden picklocks and went to work.

_Denerim – Dwelling House, 9:30, Haring 21st Late Night_

Natasha was quite agitated. Mikhail had not allowed using more force than needed, relying mostly on Morrigan's sleep spells. Iona and Shianni they left behind to soothe the freed elves. Zevran was picking locks and disarming traps, Mikhail could kill at least a guard here and there. The last one, an elven archer called Devera, he even persuaded to lay down weapons. He spared her for cooperating. Natasha fumed.

"In the main hall you'll find Caladrius. He's the boss down here. Tonight he's preparing the next shipment, twelve elves in all. They are sent to Tevinter as slaves. Good business for him. Elves fetch really good prices there and these are fresh blood, good for breeding."

Natasha really wanted to kill her, but Mikhail wouldn't allow that.

"I wonder how this could happen, why the city guards don't intercept."

The elf laughed mockingly. "Are you really that naïve? The city guards are ordered to let them go as they please. Their Arl, this spoiled scoundrel Vaughan, gets a good share. And Caladrius sends him an elven girl from time to time as a late night gift."

_Denerim – Shack of Shianni, 9:30, Haring 21st Late Night_

Natasha played with the heavy golden chain of office she had looted from Caladrius' crushed body. She ignored the fearful look of Devera, staring with a wicked and content smile at the amulet which told of Caladrius status as a Tevinter Magister.

Mikhail inspected the papers he had looted, the account of transactions between Caladrius, the ship captain and Vaughan. Alistair and some companions had left to free the elves on the ship with the help of Kylon. For a moment the warrior allowed himself a smile as he thought the praise Iona and Shianni got for releasing the prisoners. It would surely not hurt if some elves thought high about Iona.

"These papers should be convincing enough together with us to testify them. Devera, you may go."

The elf sighed, nodded happily and turned to go, but Natasha gripped her arm. "Leave the city this hour. Don't go to Vaughan, don't tell anyone. Leave Ferelden and never come back. If I ever see your face again I'll kill you. And your death will not be as nice as the one of Caladrius."

Her voice made Zevran shiver and the image of the guards slain by an out-furious Natasha around the broken, drained, crushed … shattered body of Caladrius forced in his mind. He shivered. It had been a very, very … very bad idea from the mage to haggle for his live by offering to sacrifice the elven prisoners in a blood ritual to strengthen Natasha's body. He was thankful that Morrigan ushered Mikhail and him out of the room as the mage began to wail in a fit of anger he had never seen in her. Caladrius' cries of pain would trouble his dreams for some time, he feared. And the way she spoke Vaughan's name …

Devera trembled and, making sure not to show Natasha her back, she slipped out of the door.


	58. Chapter 58 Precious Prisoners

**Precious Prisoners**

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 23rd Afternoon_

Sleep had been too short after they reached Eamon's estate finally. After breakfast it had been a long discussion about their strategy at the landsmeet. Especially Eamon had been very outspoken about his ideas. He still wanted to make Alistair king. And in his opinion not only Loghain should be executed – something most of them could live with – but Anora as well.

"She would always be a danger to Alistair's regency. Anora has many followers and even if we force her do abdicate, there would forever be the possibility of the malcontent gathering at her side."

Mikhail was clearly against this and emotions went high. At last they had to be separated after lunch with Alistair trying to calm Eamon and Leliana soothing Mikhail's nerves.

"I could strangle that bastard. As if I wanted to be king. Doesn't he see that it would destroy Alistair to be king? Every political bicker, every hard decision would kill a little bit of his soul and in the end there would be nothing left of him."

Leliana smiled hesitantly at him. "I'm clearly the wrong person to expect contradiction. Alistair and me, I don't know if we truly have a joint future, but I would like to try. I love him and I'm sure he loves me too. I always wonder how I deserve such a man but … I'm glad."

A servant entered the hall and handed a letter to Mikhail. Envelope and notepaper were of low quality, the letters readable but shaky. "I have an invitation to supper. Goldanna wants to speak with me about Alistair."

Leliana smiled. "That's a good sign, isn't it? Perhaps she wanted to have a brother after some thinking about."

Mikhail stopped her with a wave of his hand. "Don't get overexcited. Perhaps she only wants to know how much money he has."

"I don't think so. Sure she could need some money for her children, but I don't think that she would feign friendship only to winkle some money out of his pocket."

"I hope you're right."

_Denerim – Shack of Goldanna, 9:30, Haring 23rd Evening_

The evening had been nice but somewhat unconfident on Goldanna's part. Mikhail, Leliana and Natasha, all wrapped in relative simple clothes, tried to explain what a kind of a man Alistair was. Apparently Goldanna was unused to be around people of higher station, every second sentence being an apology. With her children visiting the family of her deceased husband – Mikhail assumed to get them out of the way and spare money for the good meal – the house was far more silent than at the last visit.

"I'm sure you would like him. And he would be a wonderful uncle to your children. I understand that live has been unfair and rigorous to you, but he's not responsible. And with a childhood in the barn and as a teenager in the chantry it is not so as if he had led the live of a noble-dandy himself."

In deep thoughts Goldanna followed Leliana's words, starting several times to speak but always stopped. The bard scrutinized Alistair's sister. She was very changed to her first visit. Apparently she wanted to right that first impression and didn't know how to begin. Sighing she put down bowels with a kind of caramel pudding, three good cups for her guests and a smaller for herself. "It is the favorite dish of my children. I hope you'll like it."

Even if not courtesy would have demanded to love it. It was a few seconds too late, a few moments to slow. As Leliana connected the taste to something dangerous, the poison's effect had already kicked in. She wanted to warn the other, wanted to rise from her seat, but her muscles didn't allow any of it. Leliana could not even glare accusingly at Goldanna, could only watch as tears filled the woman's eyes. "I'm so sorry. Please, understand, I had no choice. They blackmailed me to write the invitation. They have my children. I'm so sorry."

For a moment Leliana wondered who could be behind this plot. With the entrance behind her she could only listen as Goldanna opened the door and several men entered. This smell … she knew this smell. And this voice she could ever recognize.

"It is so nice to see you again, ma petite. I hope you've missed me the same as I longed for you." A hand, silken soft and with perfume lingering on it, caressed Leliana's cheek. Slowly the woman stepped in front of her, showing a cruel smile. "Oh, and this has to be the famous Mikhail Cousland. It is so bad that we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances. But we all are only pawns of fortune, aren't we?"

Goldanna threw herself to her knees in front of Marjolaine. "Madame, I've done all what you demanded. Please, give me back my children, please."

With a warm smile Marjolaine padded her cheek. "The love of a mother is so cute. It would be only fair to hold my end of the bargain." A flick of her knife, hidden before in her sleeve. Goldanna could only gurgle, her throat cut. "But I hate loose ends."

Stepping around the pool of blood on the ground she ordered her second-in-command to fetch Leliana. "Take her to the ship and leave immediately. Make sure no one touches her." The man nodded and Marjolaine kissed Leliana farewell. "We'll be together in a few days, my dear." Shortly before he left the room, the man asked: "what about the children?" The bard waved disinterestedly. "Shove them overboard somewhere. Even sharks deserve a proper meal."

Sitting down she padded Mikhail's hand. "You're so lucky, my friend. You know I was paid to simply kill you. And you can be sure that I would hate it. But to my relief I know someone who is willing to pay really good money for a Cousland. I fear in the end you will dead nonetheless, but for the moment it will be life. And: hope dies last."

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan, 9:30, Haring 23rd Evening_

Delilah was disgusted to the core. Every minute she had to stay in the presence of Vaughan was a minute of dying. And she paled every time thinking about her father's wish to marry him. With her brother Thomas as the next Arl of Amaranthine and her as the wife of the Arl of Denerim he could go for the title of Teyrn of Highever, his family being the mightiest in Ferelden. Perhaps Loghain or Anora would step in somehow, but even if they denied him Highever the fate of her would be sealed.

Captain Brendon entered, her father's most trusted officer since Captain Cross disappeared some months before, and whispered something into Rendon's ear. A broad smile that made her very uneasy split his face. Hastily he left the hall with a curious Vaughan and an uneasy Delilah following him.

At the sight of the main hall Delilah put her hand before her gasping mouth. An unknown woman stood there with some guards holding two shackled prisoners, Mikhail and Natasha. The woman made a curtsey. "Milord, I have a present for you. The mage is an extra. Perhaps you have use of her if you want to interrogate Mikhail Cousland. Men are often considerable more forthcoming if a female friend is tortured in their stead."

Rendon's smile deepened, the look of his eyes showing his daughter proving how much he had changed in the last months. "That is very attentive, milady. Brendon, please show our guests their new home. And fetch Magister Trindall, I'll need his …. assistance."

After Marjolaine left the estate with a heavy bag of gold, Rendon dismissed his daughter. "You should go to bed, Delilah. Vaughan and I have … things to discuss with our guests."

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan, 9:30, Haring 24th Morning_

Should she be delighted to have her breakfast alone, without the lewd stares of Vaughan? Delilah felt only fear after hearing from the servants that her father went to bed only shortly before sunrise. She was neither allowed to enter the prison nor to leave the castle. Her mind was tumbling about how to help.

"Milady? Ser Cauthrien is at the door and demands to see Arl Howe in the name of Teyrn Loghain."

_Ser Cauthrien would help_. Forcing herself to remain balanced she ordered the servant to wake her father and went to Ser Cauthrien, ushering her to the table and have a tea. Cauthrien had never liked her much, the discrepancy in uprising, living style and character being to different. But she followed the young woman after Delilah let her face show her inner pain for a short moment.

"Ser Cauthrien, I need your help." Looking around to make sure that nobody could overhear Delilah continued. "My father has two prisoners, two grey wardens." Cauthrien took a deep breath. "The young Cousland and that mage. They are here since yesterday."

"Why do you tell me this? And what do you expect me to do?"

"I want to help them. I know there are … discussions … between them and Teyrn Loghain and Queen Anora. But shouldn't they be solved at the Landsmeet?" Cauthrien slowly nodded. "Loghain denied me to take any action against them. He wants them to be judged by the nobles, not cut down in some back alley." Delilah agreed hastily. "You see, that I thought too. My father, he wants something from Mikhail. I don't know what. And he uses Natasha to force Mikhail to obey. He had been with them the whole night. I … I don't want to think about what he had done to them. Please, can't you do something? Perhaps Teyrn Loghain …"

Pleading she looked at Cauthrien, but the knight shook her head. "He can't intervene. There is already much tension between him and your father about his actions at Highever and he needs his support at the landsmeet. But be quiet, I think about it. I'll find a way."

Delilah watched as Ser Cauthrien left accompanying her father to the palace. She could only hope for the best.


	59. Chapter 59 Beyond pretty Faces

**Behind pretty Faces**

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan, 9:30, Haring 24th Morning – Delilah Howe_

It had been only three days before that she narrated to Natasha how her father had treated her and what Trindall had done to her on her father's command. And now Natasha was a prisoner too, a prisoner as Delilah was in her father's house. Yes, her father's, because even if Vaughan still believed that he had his own will, Delilah knew better.

If only Nathaniel was here. She missed him deeply, his voice, his laughter, his little pranks. Nathaniel always tried to protect her but it had been more difficult by the year. Where could he be now? Free Marches, there his last letter came from. Delilah was sure that there had been more letters, but her father ordered to burn them, as a trusted servant had told her.

She was a prisoner in the house of her father and would be a prisoner of Vaughan soon. A prisoner like … she thought about the elven prisoners in the room besides Vaughan's. A few days before she had spoken to them, brought them water and something to eat. It hurt Delilah much that even with his betrothed under his roof Vaughan saw the need to hold these women as … what … kind of sex slave. They told her that he promised to kill all of them should one run. And even if she released them, where should these elves go, into the alienage only to be caught some hours later?

Perhaps they were more secure in this house for now. Delilah had overheard a conversation between Vaughan and his men about some slave traders in the alienage he dealt with. How could he do this? The young Howe had never been able to understand the contempt many nobles felt towards the elves. She had known many nice elves. Sure, even the most trusted elven servants had been careful in her vicinity, but that was only too understandable.

She could only hope that Cauthrien would hold true to her word.

_Denerim – House of Marjolaine, 9:30, Haring 24th Morning – Marjolaine_

Marjolaine was highly pleased with herself and the events last night. With a broad smile she looked at the two heavy bags of coin on the table. The first had been given in exchange for Mikhail's death. Sure, he was not really dead, but should be in short time. And if something went wrong and her client got angry … her carriage was ready. In a few days she would leave Denerim. A short stay in Amaranthine would follow and then Orlais, where pretty Leliana was awaiting her.

Warm emotions gripped her heart, a mix of love, anger and satisfaction. She would try to persuade her, that all had been only in her best interest. In the end she would not succeed, she could not succeed. With being apart from one another for two years the gap was surely too great to vanquish. But it would be interesting how near she could get to Leliana's heart again.

A bit she regretted that she had no time to spend with Mikhail Cousland. He was an interesting and handsome man, unbroken and strong-minded. But the money from Rendon Howe had been even more than the other sum for his death. And she needed money now if she wanted to go back to Orlais. Her patron there promised to solve the old problems, problems which had been started by Leliana. But it would cost her dearly.

But she had the money now and in only a few weeks she would be at Val Royeaux again, away from all this smell.

_Denerim – Royal Palace, 9:30, Haring 24th Morning – Ser Cauthrien_

Relieved Ser Cauthrien left the room, left behind Teyrn Loghain and this foul rat of a man, Rendon Howe. She was so disgusted that she had to spend time near him, that Loghain didn't allow her to smite this pig, to chop his wicked head from his ugly body.

Memories resurfaced, memories of a conversation months before. Howe had presented letters to Loghain, letters Cailan had written to the empress of Orlais, written about divorcing the 'barren' Queen Anora. Cauthrien snorted. Cailan had more than one affair these last years and with no bastard showing his ugly face it made more sense to Cauthrien that the lack of royal children was his fault. Anora on the other hand had always been faithful to her husband. Another behavior was unbelievable for her, for Loghain's daughter.

How dared he to speak about divorcing her? It had been Anora who ruled the country for several years. Surely, she had made some mistakes. She was in need of some good advisors, Cauthrien thought, and naturally more leeway. As Cailan had more and more resented to listen to Loghain in military matters, so he had shown a rising conviction that he would be a great politician too. Cauthrien convulsed with laughter. In her opinion Cailan had been unable to lead a small household alone, not to speak about a kingdom.

Loghain had been crushed by the news, crushed and then angrier than ever before. If Cailan had been there at that moment, Loghain would have slaughtered him on the spot. Whispering Howe had convinced Loghain to avenge this treason in kind, to let Cailan die at Ostagar. Cauthrien had been shocked but the first time since she had been his captain, Loghain had not even cared to listen to her.

She remembered the pictures, the soldiers at Ostagar, the cries, the blood. And then the sign to retreat. Her men had eyed her with disgust. They couldn't understand and she was unable too, but she had followed the order, followed as any order in the past decade. Many had died and Cauthrien knew that this hurt Loghain much even if he till now not regretted to have killed Cailan. That Loghain till now not believed that there was a real blight – no one had seen the Archdemon so far – and that there had been the chance to stop the darkspawn vanguard at least, made it only even more difficult. Often he had explained to her that it had not been possible to save the army, and that the sign came too late.

It was only an excuse and he knew it deep within. He never really needed the sign; he could have ordered the hammer-attack without it. But Loghain had to explain his retreat, not to Cauthrien but to himself. And it seemed that after all those weeks he nearly believed himself it to be true.

Howe, she would really like to kill him. After the letter about Cailan he had presented others, letters that proved Bryce Cousland's part in this scheme. Cauthrien had doubts from the start but Loghain had been so hurt about Cailan that he allowed Howe to imprison the Couslands. Imprison, not slay. Cauthrien shook her head. The news had been terrible. Nearly the whole family slaughtered, the house-guard extinguished. Afterwards Howe presented witnesses, that he had been forced to act like that. Cauthrien trusted none of them, but whatever. It was too late. Loghain pushed the whole affair aside. He needed allies to convince the landsmeet and Howe was still his strongest supporter.

And now Delilah. The young Howe had really astonished Cauthrien. She always had despised the girl for being weak and pampered. But now she wasn't sure about her. Different from Cauthrien Delilah had never been allowed to be out of her father's reach. She had never learned to fight and would never be able to choose her husband against her father's wishes. There had been rumors about Howe beating her into submission to force her into the betrothal with Vaughan, a political matching to strengthen Howe's position. Howe had asked Loghain to support his claim for the honor of Teyrn of Highever. Till now Loghain had resisted but with the landsmeet in front of them he had no choice.

Cauthrien was sure that Loghain had no ambition to be king himself, but he believed with all his heart that Anora was the best possible Queen now, a queen that Arl Eamon and his supporters would never allow to hold the throne. In a way Eamon was the culprit, forced Loghain's hand in this evil matching with Howe. Her knuckles went white as she gripped her sword's pommel.

_I'll find a way_, she promised to Delilah and to herself.

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan, 9:30, Haring 24th Morning – Natasha_

There was only pain. Natasha hang on the rack, her face towards Mikhail so that he could see all her emotions, her reaction to every lash of Howe's whip, every agony caused by his blazing hot pokers he had pressed against her shoulders, her legs, her side.

That mage Howe had with him increased the pain with his blood magic, protecting her body form the worst wounds the same time. She had no chance to die from the torture, had to endure it. Her voice had been rasp from crying since hours, unable to soothe Mikhail. Until now he had not caved in, had not surrendered to Howe's plans. But he crumbled, Natasha could feel it. It would be so easy. Confess the treason of your parents; confess the part of Eamon in all this.

Her tear glands were long dry. Natasha looked at the third prisoner in the cell. The sight caused her nearly to vomit and had almost the wished effect to cause Mikhail to surrender. It was way out of mind to understand how a man could do such things to another. With a content smile Howe had explained who this poor soul was, described what he had done to him the last months, and explained that he would do the same things to Natasha if Mikhail remained stubborn.

Captain Cross, this was his name. He had been the former trusted Captain of Rendon Howe, leader of the men which attacked Highever Castle at night. For his deed he deserved punishment, deserved death. But this … Cross had no eyes, the eyeballs burned out with pokers. A net of whip scares covered his whole body. His fingernails had been torn out, his manhood castrated. Unspeakable horrors Cross had been put thru. And for what?

Howe had told them, how his men did not kill Eleanor. Howe sacrificed a handful of his men to overcome her with the sheer mass of her enemies. Bound and bare he dragged her in front of Bryce, his mage accomplice saving his life for some minutes. Howe wanted to torture Bryce before his death, showed him the corpse of Oren and Oriana. And then he ordered his man to rape Eleanor, rape her one after the other until she died from the exhaustion and pain. Cross had stepped in, supposedly to force his right to be the first. But apparently something had broken in Cross while his men slaughtered the castle inhabitants, something had broken the chains of loyalty that had bound him to Arl Howe for so long time as his father before.

One moment Howe laughed as Cross showed Bryce the face of his beloved wife, did not see the farewell kiss of Eleanor. And in the next moment Cross pushed a dagger into her heart, sending her to the maker to await her husband.

Howe had been furious beyond bounds and had punished Cross on and on for his insubordination. A single tear left Natasha's eye, a tear for Cross.


	60. Chapter 60 To Trust a Foe

**To Trust a Foe**

_Denerim – Cottage of Eleanor Cousland, 9:30, Haring 24th Midmorning _

"Damn it, why didn't he say anything about what he wanted to do?" Alistair's fist crashed on the table and let the cups clink. Sighing he gripped the edges of the table and tried to calm down. Morrigan frowned shortly about his outbreak but under her plain face she was troubled too. As it seemed Natasha went with Mikhail and Leliana 'somewhere' more than twelve hours ago. They had said nothing about their intention to Alistair. The only thing Alistair had been able to get to know was that Mikhail got a letter two hours before leaving and all three left Eamon's estate unarmored and donning simple clothes.

Since breakfast they had been discussing about their disappearance and their nerves were raw. Alistair nearly jumped in the air as someone knocked on the door. As he opened the door a cloaked figure entered the room, the metal of armor clattering under the simple cloak. The companions rushed to their feet, hands gripping weapon pommels. From under the cloak a short snort could be heard and a female hand made a soothing gesture before her hands rose up and tucked back the hood.

"Hello again," Cauthrien smiled despite her uneasiness.

The warrioress felt herself gripped by Alistair and pushed against the wall. Clenching his jaws he had problems to speak calmly. "What have you done with Leliana? And Mikhail and Natasha? Speak or I swear …"

A gentle hand was placed on his arm. "Calm down, Alistair. Let her speak." Smoothly but determined Iona dragged him aside and offered Cauthrien a chair. With a nod Cauthrien accepted the offer. "I'm here as a messenger, no, not for Teyrn Loghain but for Lady Delilah Howe."

She gave Alistair some seconds to handle this information before she explained further. "I have been in Bann Vaughan's Estate this morning. Teyrn Loghain ordered me to escort Arl Howe, who is living there as you perhaps know, to the palace for some … discussions. As I waited for him to get ready, Lady Delilah informed me that her father has two … guests … since yesterday. She saw an unknown woman selling him Mikhail and Natasha. This Leliana you asked about, Lady Delilah didn't mention so I fear she was not part of the contract. But Lady Delilah feared for Mikhail and Natasha, especially Natasha. As it seems Howe wants to force some kind of cooperation from Mikhail and he uses Natasha to compel him."

Alistair skulked around the table, his face working as he pondered about the information. "How can we trust you or this Delilah. I mean she is Rendon's daughter. Why should she betray her father?"

Cauthrien shrugged. "What do you expect? That I only want to lure you into some trap? Do you really think that I would need such thing to capture you, knowing that this is your hiding place? And for Delilah, I truly don't know. She appeared to be really concerned and frightened. I'm not your consultant, only a messenger. My duty is done."

Morrigan entered the discussion with some disdain in her voice. "We all have our doubts about Natasha and the persons she trusts – I mean think only about her trust into Zevran … or me. " A short smile crossed her face before she continued. "But I know that she thinks Cauthrien to be honorable and she told me why she trusts Delilah. I won't tell you the details but in that case I think her trust to be founded and I at least am ready to act on this information. But the question is: what can we do?"

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan - Prison, 9:30, Haring 24th Midmorning _

"I'm sorry, Natasha." The last two hours Mikhail had stayed silent to give the mage some dire needed rest, but now she looked at him and even pressed a weak smile.

"You have not to be. Only wait, we'll be alright in no time."

"I truly hope so, but the others don't even know where we are." Without explaining it Mikhail knew that Natasha would feel his worry about the possible consequences of a rescue try. The estate was well guarded and even their companions would have much trouble to break the security.

"She will find a way to find and save us." Mikhail instantly knew whom Natasha meant. Genuinely he wished that he could share her trust in Morrigan. "You trust her this much?"

Natasha leaned her face against the blood-soaked wood of the frame. "Mikhail, I love her." She closed her eyes, her expression one of weariness but the smile still on it. "She's imaginative and brave. And she needs us to end the blight."

Mikhail remained silent for a spell. Only as Natasha opened her eyes again he responded with care in his voice. "You discern that she doesn't … reciprocate your emotions."

Natasha nodded slightly. "I know. She feels friendship, I'm sure, and she cares for me. But she'll never love a woman, perhaps she'll never allow herself to really love at all. But what she feels towards me means much for me. Sometimes friendship is all what a woman gets and it has to be enough."

Mikhail agreed and knew that Natasha did speak not only about herself.

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Vaughan, 9:30, Haring 24th Early Afternoon _

Since hours Delilah had been on the edge of her nerves. She had heard nothing of Cauthrien and the time was running short. At the evening she expected her father to return and she truly hoped that Natasha hadn't to endure another night of … Delilah shuddered in disgust. Clenching her small fists against her temples she tried hard to think about alternatives but with only a small number of servants and guards she could trust there was no way for her to rescue them.

"Milady, Dame Sophia is at the entrance." Delilah halted in her tracks, her eyes widened. Luckily it was Geralt, an older and trusted servant, who waited stoically until Delilah remembered who this 'Dame Sophia' could only be. She forced a very artificial laugh. "Please show her in, Geralt."

Some moments later he lead a small group into the room composed of a slender young lady in a green dress and with black hair, a young warrior with blonde curly hair who took position beside the entrance, and a pair of elven servants. Recognizing the warrior and the female servant Delilah went forward to 'Dame Sophia' and greeted her heartily. "It is so nice that you'd time to visit me, Sophia. May we go to my rooms? It is cozier there."

Taught how to behave in her youth Delilah was able to hold up the appearance of calmness until they reached her rooms. "Alistair, isn't it? And Iona? I'm Delilah. Err … sure you know." With no witness around Iona took the chance to sit down beside the young woman and hug her shortly. That Delilah reacted in a positive way to an elf with such a behavior enhanced Zevran's opinion about her greatly.

"Sorry, I'm a bit confused. This is all too much. But … we have not very much time. My father will return in a few hours and Mikhail and Natasha should be away then."

Iona agreed. "That would be the best, sure. But I have a few questions. Mikhail and Natasha were not alone but in company with a friend of us, a red-haired woman called Leliana. Do you know something about her, Milady? And can you say something about how they got into your father's prison?"

Delilah thought for a moment, and then she shook her head. "No, sorry, I'm no help in that. A woman brought them to my father. I can describe her, but I don't know her name. Oh, she had a strong orlesian accent. This Leliana wasn't mentioned."

Iona looked quizzical to her companions but they only shrugged. "And then I heard that Bann Vaughan has some other … guests … here. Guests of my kind." Iona's face petrified and only her eyes showed her anger. Delilah nodded and padded her arm. "I thought about them since days. Had I seen any chance of releasing them I would have done, but they told me that Vaughan promised to kill them all if even one tried to escape. They are in a room beside his bedchamber. There are four elven women in total."

Zevran summarized with a thin smile. "So we have four elven women in the Bann's quarter, Mikhail and Natasha down in the prison and around two score of guards to prevent us from strolling around."

"And Soris," Iona added. "He should be in the prison too, has been there since months. We have to free him if at all possible." Zevran let out a deep sigh. "And Soris."

"I can help you with the elves and until the entrance of the prison, but I have no allowance to enter the prison itself." Delilah explained. "Perhaps … it would be the best way to free the prisoners and then force the guards to let you leave with … with me as your hostage. I'm Arl Howe's daughter and Bann Vaughan's betrothed," the disgust showed deeply on her face, "surely no one would endanger me." Delilah tried hard to not let her voice belie her shown confidence.

Zevran threw a puzzled look at Delilah, and then he bowed deeply. His next words forced a blush on the cheeks of the young Howe. "Now I understand why Mikhail thinks so highly of you, Milady."


	61. Chapter 61 Family Evening

**Family Evening**

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 24th Late Evening_

Wynne entered the room silently. As she looked around, a soft smile appeared on her lips. Mikhail sat on the couch, Iona's head resting on his lap as she slept exhausted with her body arched on the cushions. Warrick's snore alerted the old mage to the picturesque sight beside the chimney of Amethyne sleeping with her head on the Mabari's shoulder.

How similar they looked in this moment, Fergus and Mikhail. The younger Cousland had been relieved to see his older brother again, who just arrived this afternoon. "She is sleeping now. We should let her rest for at least a full day. Morrigan is watching her now." Mikhail nodded. "Thank you Wynne. You should fetch a little sleep for yourself." The door closed and Mikhail's thoughts wandered back to the events of the last hours.

Fear had gripped his heart as the prison cell's door opened; fear that the time of Natasha's pain was returning. And then he saw her. Never had he liked more the view of Morrigan, the witch splattered in blood, her left hand like a claw that just ripped the heart from someone's chest, her eyes burning with pure hatred that now turned soft. With her body out of Natasha's sight she used some moments to shudder and then compose herself, taking some deep breaths before she addressed the mage with her usual voice. "I hope you have a very good explanation about staying out of the house for so long, young lady."

With Mikhail able to slowly walk for himself Alistair had the duty to carry Captain Cross. Morrigan sustained Natasha and led them out of the prison, over the corpses of torturers, jail wardens and guards. "They died too fast," was Morrigan's only comment. Alistair nodded with a grim face.

The short moment of hope for Alistair had been crushed severely as Mikhail told him about the female kidnapper and what she said about Leliana and his nephews. "I can't blame Goldanna for doing this. We were only foreigners to her and with the lives of her children to be at stake it was her choice to make." Natasha agreed. "I think it could have been different with more time between her and Alistair. But for a mother the lives of her children are worth nearly everything, as for the life of a daughter to her father."

She looked sternly at Alistair. "You mean Anora and Loghain, yes? I can't forgive him what he did, can't forgive him that he left us at Ostagar and that he poisoned Arl Eamon." Mikhail looked understandingly at the ex-Templar. "He didn't want to kill Eamon. Cauthrien said that he wanted to 'put him out of action' for a while and I believe her. And he ordered Howe to only arrest my parents; the killing was on Howe's part alone. Yes, Loghain did much to be sentenced for. But he also did very much good in the past. Without him no one of us would be free from orlesian slavery. And I don't want to take away her father from Anora. She's a fine woman and excellent regent, better than you and I could ever hope to be."

"I trust your opinion, Mikhail. Loghain must abdicate. But speak with Iona and if you both think that to be the right course, than you have my allowance to spare his life." Mikhail felt relief. He had thought about sparing Loghain's live for some time but he had feared Alistair's reaction. Meanwhile Alistair opened the last door only to find the entrance hall filled with soldiers.

The entrance was blocked by Captain Brendon and a dozen guards. On the other side near the staircase to the upper floor four elven women cluttered around a very upright standing Iona and a crouched Zevran with bloodied daggers in his hands. The women hold a gurney with an elven man on it. To Mikhail's surprise Delilah stood near Zevran. "Go away. Surely you don't want to have the blood of this marvelous lady on your hands? How could you explain that to her father and her betrothed?"

But Brendon seemed unimpressed by Zevran's threat. A wicked smile appeared on his face. "I don't think that you'll kill her; I fear she's helping these elven wenches out of her too soft heart and free will. When her father returns it will be another education time for her. Perhaps I may be part of the lashing this time." Delilah paled and most of the soldiers moved uneasily. While Brendon apparently liked this situation, the soldiers around him felt appalled by the idea of hurting a young woman.

As if the time was moving slower Mikhail saw Iona's face went a deep purple. In a swift motion her hands raised up with the bow of a killed guard in them. Gracefully she pulled the bowstring and let the arrow fly. In one moment Brendon stood there, a grin on his face, unable to see any danger in this slender elven girl. The next moment the arrow pierced his eye and brain. Without a moan the soldier went down.

For some seconds it was very silent in the hall, the soldiers looking alternately to the corpse and the elven archer. Then with much roar something hit them, some force pushed all soldiers aside, smashed them against a wall. Natasha coughed with exhaustion, giving Morrigan much trouble not to slap her for this idiocy. But the way was free now. As fast as the wounded allowed they left the estate to the side entrance where Wynne, Sten and Oghren were waiting.

"Delilah is a very fine lady," reasoned Fergus, pushing his brother out of his memories.

"Yes, she is. Without her we would still be her father's prisoners. She'd risked much to help us. When this all is over she would make a marvelous Arlessa for Amaranthine."

"But something disturbs me still. As you told this woman said she had the task to simply kill you. With Howe wanting you his prisoner and Loghain waiting for the Landsmeet to solve this quarrel in honor, who could be the culprit behind this attempted murder?"

Mikhail shrugged. "I really don't know. Perhaps some follower of Loghain or Howe who thought that he would be on their good side with this deed."

"Maybe. And then recall what Delilah said: in her opinion her father believed in the truth content of the proofs against our parents. Surely it was more of a wishful believing but nonetheless it would mean that not Howe had created these proofs."

Mikhail pondered: "Perhaps they were created by this woman. She had an orlesian accent. Would not be unexpected if Orlais had an interest in creating unrest in Ferelden. "

"We should try to fetch her. Her ship left the city without her. Perhaps she wants to see how the Landsmeet ends."

"Good idea. I'll speak with Kylon tomorrow, perhaps he has an idea. And you could go to the Gnawed Noble. Maybe someone knows her. She seemed to be of the more noble type, at least in regard to her clientele."

For some minutes the brothers stayed silent. Fergus watched thoughtfully as his brother softly stroked Iona's side and gently put some strands of hair out of her face.

Mikhail murmured: "I hope that Alistair will have success."

Fergus smiled shortly. "Captain Isabela's ship seemed to be a very fast one and the lady very competent. They'll fetch that orlesian merchant. I was only astonished that he decided to go after her himself and not only send Sten and Zevran after her."

Mikhail smiled deeply. "He is in love with her. And these boys are his only family now with even his half-sister dead. "

Fergus nodded. "I understand his reasoning. But this decision only proves the validity of not choosing him to be the next king."

Mikhail's hand stopped for a second before he went on with caressing Iona. "He should live unburdened, it is the better way. "


	62. Chapter 62 Last Preparations

**Last Preparations**

_The Siren, 9:30, Haring 24th Late Evening_

The sun was long gone, the last shred of red sky drained away by the darkness. The stars shone down on Alistair as if they were mocking him, mocking his hope he hang onto with all strength his heart could muster.

"We'll find her. The Siren is very fast, much faster than the merchant ship we follow." Alistair nodded to Zevran's words, tried to quell his fears. "But what if we're too late? It is not only Leliana but the boys … she ordered them to be killed."

"I won't lie to you, Alistair. You know that I'm not the type to claim that innocent children could be sheltered from harm by the maker. We can only hope for the best."

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 24th Late Evening_

Delilah was unable to fetch sleep. Since hours she rolled from one side to the other, turned her pillow, and tore the blanket aside only to fetch it a minute later. Every time she closed the eyes she saw these pictures anew.

The elven women were breaking in tears as they believed at last in Iona's words. Without the elven maiden at her side she had never been able to convince them that they would be free again. And then they found this elven lad. Iona had called him Soris. He was manacled to a wall in a small room, held like a dog with a bed of straw, stinking of excrements and foul food. He was far too weak to move more than to raise his head in fear. Switches, several of them broken were on a rack together with a cruel whip.

With terror Soris had watched Delilah, as she in half-dream took the whip, caressed it with trembling shoulders. And then she locked eyes with the elf and his terror melted, changed into understanding as he saw in her eyes … that emotion, that memory of her own pains.

To create the makeshift gurney they needed too much time as it seemed, because as they went to the staircase Magister Trindall stepped in between them and their escape route. Delilah was unsure what exactly happened then. Trindall said something about her, mocked her. And then … red, all went red. The next thing she remembered was Iona who politely but firmly dragged her away from something on the floor, something which only vaguely seemed to be a corpse, the head a bloody pulp. Her hands were hurting still. Wynne had to heal some minor broken bones in her hands. And the faces of the freed elves, they had shown a mix of horror, awe and … satisfaction. Delilah didn't want to think about what Trindall had done to these poor souls that they felt satisfaction about such a death for him.

Her old life laid in shambles now. She was an unwelcome guest at Arl Eamon's estate. What would her future be? She didn't know, but she would hold her promise, she would support Mikhail, even against her father.

_Denerim – Alienage, 9:30, Haring 25th Late Morning_

Even with the gates to the alienage open Iona led her fellow elves thru hidden ways into the alienage and to the house of Cyrion. With Valendrian gone to Tevinter the duty of leading the elves had fallen to the Carpenter. Iona was sure that he would handle that job with care and Shianni would help him. Cyrion's prudence and Shianni's temper would make a good combination. Besides some food she had taken some weapons to Shianni in the past days to make the elves able to defend themselves in case of darkspawn attacks. Naturally they had to hide the weapons as it was forbidden for elves to own weapons aside from daggers.

Careful not to be watched they entered Cyrion's house. Soris could recover here under Shianni's eyes. The carpenter sent his niece out to fetch the families of the freed girls while Iona attended Soris. One by one they left the house, not forgetting to thank Iona for the rescue. Especially Shianni was grateful, looking again and again at Soris as if she couldn't believe that her brother was free again.

"You rescued him. I can't believe it. He had been there for months and I never thought I would see him alive again." She embraced Iona, hugged her deeply and was not too proud to shed some tears of joy. Iona embraced her softly. "I've not done it alone. Zevran was there. And Delilah, without her we hadn't any chance to succeed."

Even now with some unbelief in her voice Shianni responded: "That a shem helps freeing elves. And a noblewoman above else …"

"You should have seen her, sister." Soris described with a coarse voice. "She killed that mage, killed him with her fists alone. I've never seen a woman so angry since … since you battered Elva last summer." He pressed a smile and Shianni responded weakly. "Don't remember me. Uncle Cyrion was not very proud or fond of me that day."

"Delilah is a fine lady, too bad that her father is such an ass. He is all that what we despise in Shem." Iona told with a thoughtful voice.

Shianni agreed to her but mused: "There are very bad Shem, like Howe and Vaughan. But there are also very good ones. This Natasha seemed very honorable and Mikhail … he seemed very honest and caring for you and Amethyne. I'm glad that you were able to rescue them. What? Are you disappointed that I see goodness even in Shem? Be secure, I don't want to make a habit out of it."

Iona forced a smile and fell in the laughter of Shianni and Soris.

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 25th Late Afternoon_

"There it is." Kylon pointed to an unimpressive but well cared little house between to shops. A single man in leather armor and with a short sword at his side sat on a chair in front of it and looked at the passersby in deadly boredom.

"I saw her enter that building yesterday. I have no idea if she's in now. It seemed odd to me that a fine orlesian lady would rent such a cottage and not live in the Gnawed Noble or something alike. But be careful, she has more guards. I've seen at least a Qunari and a mage with her. And she has a young maiden doing her errands, fetching food from the tavern and buying stuff on the market. She's not the normal serving wench for sure, moves like a pocket thief if I ever saw one."

Mikhail gripped Kylon's shoulder and pressed it shortly. "Thank you very much. You better should go now. What we have to do may be not completely out of the law book."

Kylon grinned. "No problem, I've much to do this afternoon. My sword needs a very thoughtful polishing." He waved a farewell and left the alley.

Mikhail looked around to his companions. He didn't feel at ease with Iona here, his sense of protection growing since they entered Denerim and especially since Dairren had captured her. He had this frightening picture in his mind that Iona survived the months in the wilderness, battling darkspawn, bandits and werewolves only to be killed by accident now. That the warrior now knew her daughter made it only worse. Amethyne seemed to genuinely adore and trust him. It would break his heart to tell her of the death of her mother.

He pushed these thoughts aside. Iona would never allow him to tread her in other ways as the rest of the group. And he had no choice, really. With Alistair, Sten and Zevran on the way to rescue Leliana and Morrigan unwilling to leave Natasha alone he had only Wynne, Oghren and Iona at his side now.

"Wynne, take Iona with you and look for a way into the house. Perhaps there is a back entrance or you can go in from one of the shops. Take Warrick with you. On his bark we'll storm the front door."

The next minutes crawled away in paining uneasiness. Every moment Mikhail expected to hear a female cry of pain and the sight of Oghren hefting the grip of his axe in blood lust was not so securing too. He nearly missed the barking, snapped back to the moment only because Oghren stormed away, nearing the target's entrance with the grace of a drunken bronto. The startled guard rose up and fetched for his weapon only to go down in a bloody mess with a handaxe thrown by Oghren hand-deep in his breast. The dwarf didn't pause for a second but rushed for the door and bashed it open with his armored shoulder.

Between the planks of the door Mikhail saw a young girl hit by Oghren's assault thrown away. Her head knocked solidly against a wall and her body went instantly stiff. Deeper in the house magic clashed, bolts of electricity sizzling against magical shields. While Oghren attacked another guard, Mikhail ran into the dwelling room. To the right Wynne was battling a mage while to the left Iona tried hard to evade the vicious sword slashes of a Qunari triple her weight.

He had only a blink of an eye time to realize the situation before the woman standing in the middle of the room, the woman he remembered very ardently, raised her voice to a painful height, stunning all around her, friends and foes alike. No, not all. A single warrior was not impressed. Mikhail felt himself shouldered away by Oghren, the dwarf aiming at Marjolaine with wild swing. Hastily she drew her dagger, the blade glistening with a green paste on it. With agile moves she time and again evaded Oghren, stabbed and cut him several times. But neither the wounds nor the poison seemed able to stop or at least slow him. And then there was no more leeway to escape. She hesitated a split second to long and with a thumb the mighty axe embed itself in her body, splitting it from shoulder to spine. With unbelief in her eyes she went down. "Dirty bitch, only Lel may sing for ol' Oghren, know that."

With Wynne the winner of that magical duel Mikhail's eye went to Iona. Deep gashes in the Qunari's forearms showed how she had been able to disarm her massive enemy. The warrior now kept distance to his frail opponent, tried to capture her with his strong arms while avoiding these nasty blades. As Mikhail went to her aid the Qunari was distracted for a moment, a moment too long because Iona used a move she learned from Zevran, sliding to the ground and below her enemy, pushing up both daggers with all her strength, thrusting them all blade's length into the Qunari's abdomen. Gracefully she ended her move thru the giant's legs and stood up behind him as if the following crushing toggle of the Qunari was nothing else than to be expected. Mikhail smiled sheepishly at her, thinking about how he wanted to save her from harm. He should better never enrage her in the future.

_Denerim – Cottage of Eleanor, 9:30, Haring 25th Late Evening_

"You'll have to watch her till the Landsmeet. Someone could try to eliminate her even if it would do not much good with the letters we've found to support her testimony."

Mikhail hoped that nobody knew of his prisoner. They had taken the girl away in the cover of the night. She had told them that her name was Jeralle and that she had been Marjolaine's servant for two years now. Mikhail thought her to be more of Marjolaine's pupil than a simple servant but had promised to let her go after the landsmeet if she asserted what she knew about the 'Cousland letters'.

As it seemed someone had not only instructed Marjolaine to falsify these letters but also provided her with original letters between his father and his orlesian merchant contacts. With these letters she had been able to fabricate believable forgeries. To his regret she didn't seem to know who that mysterious employer was, only that it was a woman, because Marjolaine sometimes spoke of meeting 'her'. For now he had to be content with being able to proof his father's innocence and hold open his eyes for further hints.


	63. Chapter 63 Landsmeet Beginning

**Landsmeet Beginning**

_Denerim –Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 30th Morning_

"Gradually I nearly think that you planned Alistair's absence on purpose. Without him at the Landsmeet it would be nonsense to propose him as an aspirant to the throne."

With the Landmeet's beginning nearing very fast Arl Eamon had been more upset about Alistair's absence by the day. More than once Teagan had to mediate between his brother and the Couslands. Now it was time to go to the Landsmeet Chamber and still no Alistair to be seen.

"It's always the same old story. Why can't you simply respect his wish? Alistair doesn't want to be king if there is any other even marginally possible solution. He would obey your wish if there's no other way but ..." Mikhail sighed. "Now he's trying to rescue the woman he loves and his only still living family members. I really can't blame him for choosing his preferences this way." Mikhail hated it to repeat what he said a dozen times the last days, knowing that Eamon wouldn't accept it this time any better than before.

Fergus ushered them to leave the Estate. "There is nothing we can do about it now. Let's go, the others are already on their way."

The four noblemen had donned their best outfits, causing Mikhail to feel very odd without his armor. Only a single weapon was allowed for him and so he could at least grip the sword's pommel to reassure himself. Fergus looked very good in his dark green breeches and light green Jacket, the Highever sword at his side that Mikhail had been able to rescue months before. He was very glad to see it now. _Not long, father, and Fergus will wield it as the new Teyrn_.

The way to the Landsmeet Chamber passed in eerie silence. Many guards flanked the streets, holding the rabble away as the coaches of the Knights, Banns and Arls made their way to the meeting. The next days would be very important; they would decide the fate of Ferelden for the next decades. Would they be able to solve the king's question? Would they succeed in uniting all forces for the fight against the blight? For a moment Mikhail closed his eyes and sent a prayer to Andraste.

_Denerim –Landsmeet, 9:30, Haring 30th Midmorning _

More guards were watching the chamber. Near the entrance Ser Cauthrien scrutinized all passersby, nodding from time to time as Natasha spoke to her. The two women seemed weird at ease. As the mage told Mikhail about her plan to speak with Cauthrien before the meeting, he had given her letters for Loghain and Anora. Eamon would surely despise him for his plans but by now Mikhail couldn't care less. How could he ever think Eamon to be a good ally? Apart from invoking the Landsmeet he had been much more trouble than help until now.

Nodding courtly to Ser Cauthrien he entered the Chamber and made his way to the place of his family on the right, Fergus following him quietly. Short greetings to some Banns, a deep bow before the Grand Cleric. Mikhail frowned shortly. A simple Chantry mother and a sister stood beside her together with two cloaked persons. The Grand Cleric responded the bow with a nod of her head and another to someone behind him. Mikhail turned around. The High Cleric had greeted Natasha. Why her? He suppressed any question. Something was going on here.

The warrior looked intensely at Natasha but the mage didn't flinch in the slightest. Wearing the traditional mage robe for the first time since weeks was a nice change; the simple oaken staff in her hand puzzled him much more. He had never seen her without her spear-staff since they met at Ostagar. But now his eyes were drawn to the entrance. Arl Rendon Howe and Bann-nearly-Arl Vaughan made a show of presenting themselves as the great noblemen, the great movers of Denerim. With pretentious garb and bejeweled swords they seemed like princes from fairy tales, at least until one looked into their faces with evil grins and cruel eyes. Howe touched shortly but visibly the chain of office he looted from Bryce Cousland, sending bolts of anger thru the Couslands' hearts. Mikhail sighed deeply. Their time would come.

Gradually silence came in, the conversations stopped and all looked excitedly at the door. And there they came; Anora wore a light blue velvet gown, with precious but not to excessive jewels and the traditional crown on her head. Besides her paced Loghain, the only nobleman with full armor in the room, the armor he looted from an orlesian chevalier decades ago. His face was forced to remain calm and bland but Mikhail saw the distress in his eyes; he still didn't like this man but he had Mikhail's sympathy for the reasons of his deeds, that he tried all in his power to shelter his daughter from the plans of her unfaithful and ungrateful husband.

Thinking about Loghain he nearly missed the traditional ceremonial speech of the queen. The first part would be the approval of new-born children, of marriages and inheritances by the assembly.

This part seldom held any surprises, the approval being only a formal part with no more importance than the Chantry Mother's question at a marriage ceremony. But sometimes … Mikhail thought intensely about the moment when Howe would make his move for Highever; only half-minded he followed the approvals of the lower nobles, one of them the new Bann Dairren, who looked not very happy. In a few moments it would be … startled he looked up. Moments ago Queen Anora had pronounced Vaughan as the new Arl of Denerim.

"I deny his claim." These simple four words caused waves of unrest gripping the assembly. They were spoken by none other than the High Cleric and Natasha's broad evil smile troubled Mikhail even more. Her hand caressed the oak-staff as she listened to the erupting discussions.

"Bann Vaughan is unworthy to be the next Arl of Denerim. That position should be held by someone with dignity, honor and care for all inhabitants of this great city. The Arl should value the life, health and freedom of his subjects more than his own pleasure and the content of his vault." The Grand Cleric ignored the furious shouts of Vaughan and some other nobles and waved one of cloaked figures to step forward. The hood was cast aside and … Cyrion?

"In the name of the elves of Denerim I accuse you, Bann Vaughan, of repeated abduction, rape and murder. And I'll prove that you conspired with traders from Tevinter to sell my people into slavery."

Mikhail was still recovering from this change of events while all around him discussions erupted. Vaughan denied the accusations, but Mother Boann, the Chantry Mother beside the High Cleric, confirmed Cyrion's words, held witness about the interrupted marriage and how Vaughan abducted the women. But she had to attest, that she had not been in Vaughan's estate, didn't know about the events at the 'little celebration' there.

"But I have been there." Deathly silence was cast over the assembly as Bann Dairren stepped forward. "I'm not proud about what I did and my mother would ridicule me if she still lived, but I have been there. I confirm what Elder Cyrion said, confirm how he abducted elven virgins, forced his will on them, beat them into submission, and killed one. And how he boasted about the contract he made with the Tevinter slavers. How it would fill his coffins."

Nervously laughing Vaughan stepped forward, looked around for support. But even with many of the attendant nobles thinking of elves like cattle, nobody wanted to declare this opinion openly. Even Rendon Howe stayed silent, his face showing how he despised Vaughan for his stupidity and weakness.

"But … but they were only elves. I mean … elves? Surely you can't expect me to treat them like humans."

"No, surely not." The second cloaked person stepped forward, casting the cloak aside. _Iona_. "But thinking us to be some kind of cattle, what tells that about you? Abducting and raping elves maidens, wouldn't that be in your own reasoning like a shepherd abusing his sheep? But perhaps you're only a rabid dog, killing my people for your own animal desires, a rabid dog that should be whacked to death with a shepherd's staff so that he's no more a danger to the flock."

Quickly Mikhail looked aside with comprehension washing thru his mind and really Natasha stepped forward and threw her staff to Iona, the elven maiden catching the simple weapon with grace.

"I, Iona, in the name of Elder Cyrion and all elves of the Denerim Alienage, am here to bash you to death as the rabid dog you have proven to be."

Natasha gripped Mikhail's arm, prevented him from storming at Iona's side. "It is her fight, not yours," she whispered.

With a shout of pure rage Vaughan hurried forward and drew his sword. He slashed widely at the graceful elven maiden, Iona sidestepping his attacks with agile steps, punching her enemy several times with her staff with a token modicum of force. She added to the insult by smiling broadly the whole time. Vaughan stalled his steps, looked at Iona with blood-red eyes, a low growl evading his throat. Clearly he was out for murder. Remembering his sword lessons he tried to use his anger and attacked with more precision. But Iona used her longer range and nimbler feet to always evade his attacks.

And then it was over in a furious speed. Iona sidestepped a sword slash, slipped a bit, the tip of her staff too low for another parade.

Vaughan saw his chance and made a rash and powerful thrust. Iona slumped to the ground and made a sweep with her staff, knocking away Vaughan's leading foot. As the Bann tried to reassure his position the maiden inverted her move, raising and circling in a swift motion. The end of her staff made a long, long curve and connected solidly with Vaughan's neck. A nasty noise followed and he had not even the time to look surprised before toppling down. Calmly he laid there, his head in an unhealthy position to his chest.

Silence, silence all in the assembly chamber. Unworried Iona awaited Anora's reaction. The queen looked a bit pale but her voice was steady. "The accusations have been proven. Bann Vaughan and his family lose all claims to the Arldom of Denerim. Elder Cyrion, I regret what happened to your people and I hope that something like this will never happen again."


	64. Chapter 64 Landsmeet Rising

**Landsmeet Rising**

_Denerim –Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:30, Haring 30th Evening _

The way back from the Landsmeet had been very quiet. Iona had chosen to sit in the second carriage with Natasha while Mikhail was in the first with the Arl.

"It was a good fight." Iona looked up as Natasha broke the silence. "And a good sign, proving to the elves of Denerim that justice can be achieved."

Iona's expression darkened and with despair she responded. "No, even with all of us as witnesses and Vaughan's crimes against the law proven, they would have voted against us if not for Bann Dairren's testimony. There are too many nobles silently agreeing with Vaughan's opinion that we are simple cattle and that it is their right to treat us as they wish."

Natasha leant forward and put her hands on Iona's. "It was a first step, Iona. You can't change this world in a few days or weeks or months. It will be much work. But it has been a first victory and there are nobles with a sense of justice and honor. Bann Teagan, for example, is a fine lad. Or Bann Alfstanna, you remember her? The young lady we met at the Gnawed Noble, whose Templar brother had been killed by Loghain's men to save Jowan. Or Mikhail, he will help your people when this all is over, you can be sure."

With a pressed voice and her eyes shimmering wet the elf replied: "And Lady Landra, she had always been kind to me and my daughter. Perhaps you're right, I hope that so dearly."

"Certainly I am." Natasha smiled broadly and padded Iona's hand. As she waited for Iona to get of the carriage, the mage shortly thought about the plans Mikhail had in mind with the elves of Denerim. They had spoken about how to help them in the long run and she wished that once hope and reality would merge to one better future.

Suddenly the elf stopped in front of Natasha and watched the unexpected visitor as he left Mikhail and neared Iona, an unsure expression on his face.

Iona bowed slightly. "Bann Dairren, I'm most grateful that you … that you helped Elder Cyrion and the Elves of Denerim in their struggle."

"Thank you, Iona." He hesitated some moments before Dairren continued. "I wanted to apologize, apologize for my behavior. As I snatched you from Vaughan's feast I should have been a gentleman like mother tried to educate me, but I tried to use it as leverage against you. And that I used you as a wager was completely inappropriate." Smiling weakly he added: "Even if I think now that losing that evening was one of the few good deeds I've done so far."

Dairren trembled as Iona stepped nearer and put a hand on his arm. "You've saved my daughter from the Tevinter slavers. If nothing else I would always think highly of you for that."

With a harassed look the Bann tried to explain: "You're much too nice to me, Iona. At first I only wanted to shelter her. I thought you to be dead and she was a kind of memory for me. Than you came back with Mikhail Cousland and Arl Howe sent his men to put up a trap. This assassin nearly killed your daughter, without this warden mage she would have died. It was horrible to watch you with your daughter in your arms. I swear to you, that I'll never again hurt you or your family. And if you ever …"

Iona raised her hand to stop his oral fluency and bend forward to press a soft kiss on Dairren's cheek. "Live well, milord." Bowing shortly she left him behind and entered the Arl's estate.

_Denerim – Landsmeet Chamber, 9:31, First Day Midmorning_

Mikhail folded the letter and stuck it into the pouch of his jacket. With a short bow in Anora's direction he agreed to her proposition and turned back to the events in front of him. After the break the meeting had continued and the moment was nearing very fast where he had to accuse Howe of his wrongdoings. Mikhail eyed Delilah with a bit of compassion. He had tried to persuade her to be absent this day but as he should have expected she declined his offer.

The last minutes Rendon Howe had been boring the assembly with his ranting about 'the orlesian connection' of House Cousland. Now it was time to strike.

He straightened himself as a single woman in the robes of the chantry entered the hall on Eamon's command and went to the center of the assembly, holding a patch of letters in her hands. Her voice at the begin exposed her unease to speak in front of so many nobles but got more secure by the sentence as she explained the results of her investigation:

"Your Highness, Lords and Ladies of the Assembly, I'm Sister Justine, Curator of the Chantry of Denerim. It has been my duty to study the letters which gave testimony to the suspected treason of deceased Lord Bryce Cousland. To compare I've gotten some letters Lord Mikhail Cousland obtained from an orlesian bard that had been killed in Denerim. Additionally Bann Alfstanna and Bann Dairren had been so helpful in administering me some private letter they've gotten from Lord Bryce and Lady Eleanor Cousland." This was new to Mikhail but a short look at his brother explained how it became.

"The result of my investigation is the following: these letters handed from Arl Howe to your Majesty as proofs of Lord Bryce's treason … were forged." Mikhail stared at Howe while all around them uproar exploded, voices shouting their disgust about this forgery and the few supporters Howe remained battling the majority. As expected Howe began to sputter accusations against the chantry as a madman. For Mikhail it was obvious that the Arl had already realized that his plan had gone awry and that his mind had snapped by now.

With a steady voice Queen Anora thanked Sister Justine for her testimony and dismissed her. Mikhail stepped forward. "Your Majesty, next I want to present you a witness about the events in the night my parents were murdered. If I may remind the assembly of one fact: irrespective of the forgery and who worked them and played them into the hands of Arl Howe, it had been the Queen's order to imprison my parents, imprison and not slay out of hand. My witness is someone who had lived to fulfill his duty in Amaranthine. The reputation of him and his family is unblemished. For a long time he was loyal to Arl Howe, even as he had to fulfill orders that were against his morale. But in that night he had to choose, choose between his Lord and the Maker. He did the right decision and was punished for that beyond measure."

He stopped for a moment and looked at the wheeled chair with the cloaked figure, waited for the nod of Iona before he continued. "Miladies, milords … I would like to spare Captain Cross this all. But he declared that he wanted to speak, wanted to testify what happened. Please honor his courage and be warned about his appearance. Those with a weak stomach should better not look, but open your ears and hear."

On his sign Iona shoved the wheeled chair forward. Captain Cross' frame was cloaked by a hooded mantle and a blanket. For some moments all was silent; then a coarse voice started to narrate the story of Highever Castle, the story of betrayed friendship and bloody murder. Aside from some gasps it continued to be eerie silent as Cross told of the night, the attack. How his men were ordered to wait until his Arl stabbed his host from behind, how they attacked the guards, killed the sleeping soldiers, and slaughtered servants, artisans and even the chantry Mother Mallol. Someone wept but nobody embarrassed the culprit by looking at him.

"At last we found that storeroom. Lord Bryce was mortally wounded from my Arl's stab. Lady Eleanor was beside him, both preventing us from following Lord Mikhail Cousland. My soldiers had overwhelmed her and taken Lady Eleanor alive on Arl Howe's command. I entered the room to report what I had found in the Cousland family quarters. Lady Landra, guest at Highever castle those days, had been murdered in her sleep. Between my soldiers – killed from Mikhail Cousland as I know now – I found … " He swallowed hard several times before he continued. "I found the corpse of Oren Cousland, the seven year old son of Lord Fergus, and his wife. Before she had been killed my soldiers … they had … they had … sorry, sorry milord, I couldn't prevent it." His voice faltered.

Fergus' voice rose of the assembly. "Don't hurt yourself, Captain Cross. You've done nothing ill and surely paid more than enough for any assumed wrongdoings."

"Thank you, milord. As I entered the room I heard how Arl Howe ordered Magister Trindall to prevent Lord Bryce's death. Magister Trindall explained that he would only be able to forestall that death for an hour at most. Arl Howe said that it would be enough. Then he ordered his men to …"

Captain Cross' voice failed him. Iona looked at Mikhail and his brother, waiting for a sign of approval before she pressed Cross' hand and told him to go on.

"He ordered his men to drag Lady Eleanor in front of her husband, to rip her clothes off and to … force them on her." Shocked shouts interrupted his description and even Queen Anora was very pale as she ordered silence. "He wanted to torture Lord Bryce by seeing … that, before he died. After what I had seen … Lady Landra, the boy, Lady Oriana … I couldn't stand more. I was unable to rescue her, but at least I could give her a spark of dignity in her death. Before the soldiers could begin with their unholy doings I went forward and thrust a dagger in her heart. Arl Howe was furious and ordered me to be chained up. Since that night I had been his prisoner until Lord Mikhail rescued me some nights before."

On his sign Iona took blanket and mantle away, showing the assembly the result of Howe's fury. More than one lady fainted from the sight and slumped to the floor. The rest stood in shocked silence, unhearing to Howe's rambling about 'treacherous Cross'.

Ignoring the Arl completely Mikhail looked at Anora and Loghain. The queen was visibly shaken and Loghain was deeply ashamed. The queen rose from her throne and tried to steady her voice.

"Lords and Ladies, I have to admit that I'm aghast. Such a behavior was unknown in Ferelden since the orlesian occupiers left. That a fereldan noble would commit such atrocities is incredible for me. Captain Cross, I bow to your honor and courage for what you've done and for giving testimony about the events. There will be done what is possible for you."

Anora's face petrified as she continued. "Hereby I order Rendon Howe to be under arrest. He is stripped of all titles and honors; he will stay under severest custody at Fort Drakon until there is time for a properly trial. Until then … "

While the guards stepped forward to arrest the former Arl, Rendon Howe suddenly drew his sword and whirled around. His eyes showed signs of madness as they flickered from the well-armed Loghain to the throne, his mouth sputtering incoherent nonsense to the assembly. With a shout of rage on his lips he stormed to the queen and lifted his sword. A frantic Cauthrien tried to intercept him; her face showing the knowledge that she would be too late. The blade came low only to be stopped by a sparkling blue shimmering field around the queen. Howe reached back for another slash but now Cauthrien was in reach. Forcing him aside with her body she drew her weapon and parried his next two strikes before she pierced his breast with her sword, showing only a slight sign of satisfaction as Rendon Howe toppled to the marble floor. Only then the first nobles were able to take breath again.

With surprising composure and dignity Anora looked from the traitors corpse to Cauthrien and Natasha, bowed shortly thanking for her rescue. While the guards carried the body away, Anora turned around and addressed the Couslands: "Lord Fergus, as I don't expect the assembly to do something other as to approve you as the new Teyrn of Highever … what would be your advice about regency in Amaranthine until we decide who should be the next Arl?"

Without hesitation Fergus answered aloud: "Hereby I propose to be regent and after the blight the new Arlessa of Amaranthine: Lady Delilah Howe. She has proven to me more than once that she had nothing to do with the atrocities of her father. She had shown a strong will and personal bravery as she helped to save my brother and Grey Warden Natasha from imprisonment and torture at own bodily risk. Naming her would be good to Amaranthine and her name will do much good to heal the wounds of the past."

It was hard to decide what stunned the assembly the most: the conviction of Arl Howe, his try to murder his queen or Fergus decision to support Delilah, the young Howe shedding tears about her father and only marginally realizing what Fergus said.

Silently Mikhail left his brother's side and crossed the hall until he stood in front of Delilah Howe, reaching out his hand: "Milady, please know that you'll always have friends in my brother and me and that we don't wish there to be bad blood between us and you or your brothers."

Smiling very weakly Delilah accepted his hand. "Thank you, Milord. Your Highness, please excuse me, I have to see … to look after …" Her voice ebbed away and to her relief Anora simply nodded. "You're excused. But have in mind that there won't be much time to mourn for now as I agree wholeheartedly with Teyrn Fergus in passing the Regency of Amaranthine into your hands."

And so it becomes that Delilah Howe, Regent of Amaranthine left the hall and the second day of the landsmeet ended.


	65. Chapter 65 Landsmeet Deciding

**Landsmeet Deciding**

_Denerim – Royal Palace, 9:31, Wintermarch 1st Morning_

Lost in thought Loghain poked around in his breakfast. This would be his last day, he felt somehow. Two days of the Landsmeet had passed and two times Mikhail Cousland had struck his targets. Two of Loghain's supporters were dead now and today he would go for the throne. Watching his daughter Anora, her back straight and her face not showing any emotions, he felt sorrow. He had done what he thought to be right. Always he only wanted to protect his home country and his daughter, not only because she was his only child but he judged her to be the best choice to sit on the throne.

But in hindsight he had destroyed what he wanted to protect. Many soldiers had died in Ostagar. Not that he had problems in sending soldiers to their death but now those casualties seemed such a waste. And his daughter ... excluding her from most decisions these last months had been an error and totally in contrast from what he wanted her to be: rightful monarch of Fereldan. And now Eamon would dispose her. Loghain would fight for her to his last drop of blood, but deep in his heart he knew that Mikhail would prevail.

In a way he liked the young Cousland. Together they could have achieved much for Fereldan. Now it would fall on Mikhail alone to save the country. Shortly he thought about the letter he received. Mikhail had bidden him to step down from his position as regent and military commander of Fereldan. But this would be his confession that he was incompetent or some kind of traitor or both. Neither did his pride allow this nor could he admit to himself that his decisions had been wrong. He would fight as always, would step down in dignity and if that meant his death then so be it.

As they left the room Loghain nodded shortly to Erlina, the handmaiden responding in kind. She would give Anora the letter from her father this evening, the words he could not say. Today would be the day.

_Denerim – Landsmeet Chamber, 9:31, Wintermarch 1st Midmorning_

The meeting started in a hushed atmosphere. Queen Anora had announced that some ambassadors would speak to the assembly and the promises of the dwarves of Orzammar and the Dalish Elves were approved with much joy and relief. To Mikhail's surprise there had been even an ambassador of Antiva, promising support in the form of money, weapons and food. As could be heard between the lines of the Antivan ambassador, the city-states feared each other to much to send troops but this material support would be helpful too. A small victory it was for Anora but a helpful nonetheless.

On Queen Anora's wave another man stepped forward. He wore a uniform of the Free Marches and Mikhail was sure that he had seen him before. "Your Majesty, Milords and Miladies of the Assembly. I am Gorel Vael, ambassador of the City of Starkhaven of the Free Marches. I greet thee in the name of Prince Vael. He sends you his best wishes for your struggle against the blight together with those soldiers he can spare without leaving our home defenseless."

Now he had the attention of the whole assembly. "Your Majesty, you sent word that your country needs help in these dark hours. Prince Vael decided that it is time to stand together. Following my ship are the troops Starkhaven assign to your command. Aside from five-hundred foot-soldiers the Circle of Magi sends twelve mages and forty Templars. We hope that they will be helpful in your struggle."

The surprise on Loghain's face sweetened the moment for Mikhail and with a bow to Anora he showed her his appreciation for this diplomatic victory. Loghain had tried to exclude his daughter from politics the last months, but his success had not been complete. It was only another reason for him to go on with his plans.

Anora thanked Ambassador Goren deeply and a Templar stepped forward. Natasha inhaled deeply beside Mikhail as she recognized that it was Cullen. She scrutinized him and was relieved to see him healthy and balanced. These last weeks seemed to have been good to him. Missing his first sentences she snapped back to the moment as he declared:

"And so First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir decided that they'll send a combined force like the one of Starkhaven to your aid. It will encompass every mage and Templar fit for combat. I'll be second-in-command of the force that will be reinforced by the mages and Templars of Starkhaven …" Ambassador Goren bowed shortly to acknowledge this agreement. Cullen drew a sealed roll from his pocket and crossed the hall until he stopped in front of Natasha.

"On order of Knight-Commander Greagoir this combined force will be under control of the one mage he feels competent and responsible enough for this duty: Warden Natasha Amell." Cullen reached the roll to a very pale Natasha. The mage gawked long moments at the Templar until Cullen suggested with a smile: "You have to take the roll of appointment if you want to accept the task, Natasha." With a bow and under light laughter of the nobles Natasha took the roll from Cullen, touching his hand shortly in the process.

Queen Anora addressed the assembly another time. "After all these very positive news we have to hear a last ambassador. His offer of help is not undisputed but we have to hear him nonetheless."

Mikhail took a deep breath as a man in the uniform of a Grey Warden came forward. He was as old as Duncan had been with black hairs and beard. The uniform was a bit too precious to be of fereldan style.

"I am Senior Grey Warden Riordan and was sent to Fereldan on the order of the Warden Commander of Orlais." So there this one came from. Mikhail had already wondered when he would meet someone of those wardens who remained at the border since months as he was told.

"Orlais wants to help Fereldan in these dark hours and so my Warden Commander sent a large troop of our wardens. They stand ready at your border to cross it on your command, your Majesty. To support them Empress Celene dispatched two-thousand men and she …"

"Bullshit." Sure, his loud exclamation was a bit away from his normal behavior but Mikhail trembled with rage and his word draw the attention of every one. Unseen from him it even forced a slim smile on Loghain's lips.

"Orlais could have sent Wardens months before and without soldiers to accompany them. It should have been clear that no true Fereldan would allow those soldiers to cross the border. Hopefully there will be one day peace between our countries and I hope to see more exchange of knowledge and trade in my life, but not this. Sent your wardens, submit them under the command of a Fereldan and we will accept your help."

Mikhail's words were greeted by the assembly with open enthusiasm, but Riordan shook his head. "This can't be. Empress Celene estimates the situation in Fereldan too hazardous and the life of these wardens too valuable to send them without protection. Surely you can see that …"

"No, I can't see. I'm only a backwoods dumbass from Fereldan. If you don't accept our terms, than please go back from where you came and tell Empress Celene – with best regards from the dog lords – that she won't be part of our victory against the blight." Under the applause of the nobles Mikhail turned to Anora, bowed deeply and asked: "I hope this is in your mind too, Your Majesty?" Anora smiled, the first time really alleviated. "It is, Lord Mikhail."

Riordan left the assembly chamber and Queen Anora asked the assembly with a slight tremble in her voice: "This has been the last ambassador to hear. Are there any open … points you want to address?" She sighed deeply as Mikhail stepped forward. Anora had expected it but somehow hoped the whole morning that it would not happen, that some miracle would occur and all … She looked at her father and after his small nod she allowed Mikhail to speak.

"We have combined a mighty force. Dwarves, Elves, Mages and Templars, all will aid our army. The forces of Starkhaven and the support of Antiva are well appreciated. One last decision we have to do now. Who will be commander of this army? Some months before there could have been only one answer: Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren, and Hero of River Dane." Mikhail bowed slightly in Loghain's direction.

"But much has happened since then. Things that prove that Teyrn Loghain is no more the man we have known. His preparations and battle-plan for Ostagar had been not up to the task, his decision to leave King Cailan had been questionable, his excuses and tries to blame the wardens for that defeat dishonorable. As regent of Fereldan for the last months he is surely at least partly to blame for what the deceased Bann Vaughan and Arl Howe had done in Highever and Denerim. These points alone should convince everyone that he is not able to lead our army against the Archdemon and that he should step down from his position."

Grimly he looked at Arl Eamon and then at Teyrn Loghain. "But something I can't stand in the least is his decision to snatch a blood mage from the hands of the chantry, to kill Templar Irminric the brother of Bann Alfstanna in the process and to send that Blood Mage to Redcliffe with the order to poison Arl Eamon, a deed which caused – surely neither wanted nor expected from him but still to blame on him – hundreds of dead in the end."

With soothing hand waves Mikhail stopped the resulting turmoil. "Your Majesty, hereby I request that Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir should be deposed from his position as Fereldan's military Commander and be put under arrest until we have time for a trial about the crimes he had committed."

"No, I won't accept that." Loghain stormed forward. Mikhail sighed and bowed his head shortly. He had expected this irrespective of his hopes. "I've done what I did to safe Fereldan. As thirty years before I shouldered the task to defend our home from the claws of Orlais. King Cailan planned to divorce Queen Anora, the rightful Queen of Fereldan and your ruler the last five years, and marry an orlesian duchess." Ignoring the following uproar he continued. "In the end he wanted to throw away for what King Maric and I had fought, call back the orlesian occupiers. As Warden Riordan has proven only an hour ago they are still standing ready to send their troops, not to help but to invade. Perhaps not all what I've done was morally unquestionable but I have done what had to be done. I won't stand back."

Showing sorrow in his face Mikhail responded. "Then you leave me no other choice. I, Mikhail Cousland, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, challenge you, Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren, to a duel … until second blood." Gasps from the nobles permeated the hall and showed their surprise. 'To death' they had expected but second blood? That meant until one combatant surrendered or was no more able to fight on. What could be the plan of Mikhail Cousland, send Loghain to the executioner's block after a trial? The accusations were grave enough to let no other punishment being acceptable.

Anora wanted to react but Loghain interrupted his daughter. "I accept your challenge. Get your armor and meet me in the courtyard. May the maker decide."

_Denerim – Landsmeet Courtyard, 9:30, Wintermarch 1st Midday _

The assembly awaited him. Showing a bland face Mikhail entered the courtyard, Fergus at his side, Alistair and Natasha behind him. He wore that dragon bone armor Wade had crafted for him together with the sword starfang and the round shield Kardol bestowed him. His armor and shield offered less protection than the heavy Chevalier's armor of Loghain but he would be faster and more agile. Despite his age his opponent would be stronger than him and he could only win thru quickness and stamina.

Loghain awaited him, Ser Cauthrien at his side as a second. She tried hard to assume an appearance of balance but her eyes belied that. A last time the High Cleric tried to mediate but neither of them wanted to retreat. Without much further words they ordered their seconds back and made themselves ready for the fight.

Bellowing their battle-cries both charged with their shields in front but in the last moment Mikhail made a half side-step, evading the brunt of Loghain's shield-bash. Nonetheless his teeth rattled. _This will not be easy_. Avoiding the next attacks he made some distance and watched Loghain's moves carefully. Deflecting the Teyrn's sword with his shield and sidestepping his shield-bashes, Mikhail himself made only probing strikes at his opponent. His breath remained calm and he concentrated on the defense, only hitting Loghain lightly at exposed joints of his limbs to raise his ire.

After a while this tactic started to pay off as Loghain began to lose his patience and breath. Inhaling more deeply he tried to corner his younger enemy and slowly enraged as Mikhail every time evaded this tactic with nimble steps. A bit too bold he attacked another time and tried to hit him with his shield. But this time instead of evading Mikhail counter-attacked and with a lightning-fast slash hit Loghain at the hip, causing a long and heavy bleeding wound. Gasps rose from the assembly and Anora pressed her hand on her mouth.

Loghain snorted and ignored his wound as good as possible, but fast the consequences of the blood loss become visible. His movement slowed down, his reactions were more inexact than at the start of the fight. More wounds followed with most of the blood on Mikhail being not his own. Heavy panting Loghain retreated two steps and eyed Mikhail. "You're as strong as I expected you to be. Your father taught you good." Mikhail bowed slightly. "And I see why you're assumed as one of the mightiest sword-and-shield fighters of Fereldan. I hope to be as formidable as you now should I be so lucky to reach your age."

Being done with the nice words and with neither Mikhail asking for nor Loghain offering surrender they clashed anew, swords hitting shields and armor relentlessly. After a while Mikhail saw a slight opening, Loghain's shield a bit too low from exhaustion. Mikhail thrust out with his sword, finding the small gap between two armor plates. Instantly all went quiet, Loghain halted his movement for some seconds before he went down, his sword released from his grip clattering to the stones. Mikhail gulped. This wound was mortally he knew. Had he done too well? Perhaps someone as Wynne could save Loghain but his expression made it clear that he wanted no such thing, that he wanted to end this all now and permanently. Anora rushed to his side, this one time ignoring her regally composure.

Mikhail kneeled beside her and whispered: "I didn't want this to end this way, Milord." Loghain only nodded, unable to speak. His words only hearable to Loghain and Anora he promised: "This will not be the end of the line of the Mac Tirs, I swear to you. I will do all what is in my might to give Fereldan the one and only possible queen, your daughter." Loghain's eyes widened and he tried hard to detect any deceit in Mikhail's eyes. "Milord, please let my companion heal you. I don't want your death to be my wedding gift to Anora."

Loghain's eyes flickered from Mikhail to Anora. Anora, yes he could see it now, she had known this plan the whole time and said nothing. She had left all her choices open. Pride filled his heart for a moment. This was the daughter he had raised. Should he allow this man to have his way? By surrendering it would be his fate to stand trial, to have his honor be stained thru his deeds. On the other side: he knew his daughter. Despite her will to always act reasonable she would not marry the man who had killed him. His death would deny her a future as queen of Ferelden. Ferelden was worth more than his own joy or life. Was it not equally more important than his pride?

With a weak nod he agreed and under gasps of relief from Anora Mikhail waved Wynne at his side. The elder Mage hurried to them with a deep frown on her face. "Why have you waited for so long? Arguing about who had won? Men can be real children sometimes."

As Loghain closed his eyes surrendering to Wynne's cure and censure, Mikhail stood up and waved the assembly away. "The decision is clear. We'll make the formalities tomorrow morning." The noblemen left the courtyard in silence, leaving Anora behind, her father's head in her lap.

On the way to the exit he stopped shortly at Cauthrien's side. "I hope he will forgive me my part in all this, my errands and all that," she whispered. Mikhail nodded approvingly. "I think he will. Loyalty is very important to him, but doing what someone thinks to be right was always his first priority." He looked back to Wynne, Loghain and Anora. "I await your message about Loghain's condition. And an invitation. It is time for a private meeting." Cauthrien bowed slightly as Mikhail left the hall.

**PS: Changes to this chapter **

**As Mike3207 mentioned (thank you for the hint), the death of Loghain I had originally written was a bit weird after the discussion between Alistair and Mikhail or the wedding plans of Mikhail. Now he lives on (at least for a while) and the intention of the end of this chapter is to show that Loghain(!) had planned to die in the duel and that he had to be persuaded to live on as this is the more difficult end for him.**


	66. Chapter 66 All Hail Anora

**All Hail Anora**

_Denerim – Estate of Arl Eamon, 9:31, Wintermarch 2nd Midday _

In silence Teagan ate his lunch and watched his brother, the Arl being in bad mood since hours. As the messenger from the harbor brought the news of the 'Siren' nearing the harbor, Mikhail had asked the Queen to delay the Landsmeet meeting and Anora had complied.

The tension running high Mikhail and his friends had been awaiting further news at the estate, unable to eat, unable to sit still. Great was their relief as Zevran entered the room, running ahead of the others. Leliana was free again and Goldanna's boys alive. Their possible deaths had been hanging over the companions' heads as a dark and hope-quelling cloud. Now their joy was only the greater.

Should he ignore his brother's order? Should he tell Alistair that these boys weren't actually his family? The lies burdened Teagan but telling the truth would only lead to another confrontation. The relation between his brother and the wardens was already very tense. Eamon by now had dropped the idea of making Alistair king but obviously it still troubled him that he had been tossed aside in this important question.

Teagan felt relieved, allowed Alistair the hope of a good life without the burden of kingship, this also being another reason to stay quiet about the boys. Was it so important if the boys were his family and Goldanna his deceased half-sister? He enjoyed having a family now and that would be the most important, Teagan thought. Alistair's youth had been quite dour and the young man's uprising had more than once been an issue between the brothers. Teagan would have liked to raise Alistair in his own household at Rainesfere, training him in the ways of knighthood and preparing him in the ways of a landholder. But just as with the question of Alistair's mother his brother had been adamant about that. Now Alistair was a young man with a strong heart full of justice, honor and kindness. All things Teagan regarded as worthy. But obviously he was very ill prepared for being king.

Mikhail had blamed Eamon to intend to have a puppy on the throne with him as the grey eminence behind. Teagan stayed silent at that discussion but he was sure about Mikhail being right in this point. They had been brothers to Queen Rowan and Uncles to Cailan, but always other nobles had been more important. The Mac Tirs and the Couslands always overshadowed the Guerrins.

Teagan had been content with his station and influence. Rainesfere was all he wanted to rule and the idea of becoming Arl – something that was now very possible with Connor a mage – troubled him endlessly. But Eamon had always been more ambitious and since his marriage with Isolde this trait had only amplified.

Today there would be a decision to be made. Teagan expected that Mikhail would be declared the new king and Anora his Queen. Mikhail had been evading discussions about Anora's fate, knowing that Eamon would like to execute her beside her father. But Teagan remembered the expression of admiration in the Cousland's face as he spoke about Anora, the feeling only been enhanced in the last days with the queen showing grace and dignity at the landsmeet. That she had been able to craft an alliance with Starkhaven behind her father's back showed how brilliant she was. Without someone as Loghain and Cailan hindering her plans and with some fair advisors at her side – Teagan wondered what kind of a queen she would be.

_Denerim – Landsmeet Chamber, 9:31, Wintermarch 1st Afternoon_

All conversations were quenched instantly as the doors opened. The eyes of every attendant turned to the entrance and there they were. Leading the way was Queen Anora, her face a bit pale above the dark-blue gown, a necklace of sapphires accentuating her slim neck, the crown of Ferelden showing to everyone that nothing had changed since the day before.

Some steps behind her walked Mikhail Cousland and Alistair. A first hint for the onlookers was the difference in uniform between the men. While Alistair had chosen to wear the uniform of a Grey Warden his companion had donned one of Highever, his choice being a political one obviously. As Anora, after a few words to the assembly, sat on the throne, the two wardens took positions to the sides of Anora.

To everyone's surprise it was Alistair that stepped forward after some silent moments and addressed the assembly: "Milords and Miladies, these last days have seen many changes to that Ferelden we had known. Faces we had among us are no longer, structures we thought to be permanent were broken. Many decisions have to be made in the near future. But today we're here to decide those two questions that are the most important for now: who should be ruler of Ferelden and who should lead the army against the blight."

For some moments Alistair looked around as if in search of some kind of support, finding none. Leliana was still in bed recovering from those heavy doses of paralyzing poison and Iona had taken responsibility to care for his nephews. He hesitated shortly, his eyes going wide, as of all things Morrigan, standing at the side linking arms with Natasha, made a gesture of comfort in his direction. The witch smirked as Alistair coughed before he continued.

"Yesterday evening Loghain Mac Tir, former Teyrn of Gwaren …" Alistair waited until the turbulence caused by his words subsided "forsook his position as the commander of Ferelden's army together with renouncing his title as Teyrn of Gwaren." Alistair turned to Anora and on her nod continued. "Queen Anora allowed me to present you the new acting Commander of the Army. It will be no surprise to you that this could only be one man, my brother-in-arms, Grey Warden Commander Mikhail Cousland."

Mikhail stepped forward, bowed in all directions and accepted the acclamations but retreated hastily after that, giving Alistair the opportunity to go on. "But what about the question of ruling the land you may ask? I have to speak verbosely about some points perhaps not all of you know but have to else our decision could be a bit odd looking. I hope you don't see me as too impolite if I start with speaking about my person. I am Grey Warden Alistair Theirin, illegitimate son of deceased King Maric Theirin and half-brother of King Cailan."

The following conversations endured some minutes. While many knew the rumors about Alistair's origin, this had been the first time someone spoke of it openly, the presence and silence of Anora giving that claim enough support to quell any qualms.

"As the last known living descendant of King Maric it seemed to some a good idea to put me on the throne. For many it occurred that bloodline alone would be enough to make me a good leader. Even my friends – to my endless surprise – thought that I could become a worthy king." As Alistair turned to face Mikhail light laughter erupted from all sides.

"But we have to look at the hard facts. I was never educated to take that burden. Personality and intent are important but knowledge and experience are too. In these moments we need a ruler that is able to make a running start, shouldering the actual problems, not someone who is forced to learn his way from the bottom up. So to the disappointment of some I decline this proposition as long as there is someone I assume to be able to rule Ferelden most competently. To my relief … there is someone."

It went deathly silent as Alistair turned around and kneeled in front of Anora. "Queen Anora, please allow me to be the first to swear fealty to you."

Breaking the long moments of silence after these words Anora rose from her throne and reached Alistair her hand to stand up. Slowly he walked back to his former position beside the throne.

"I thank you for your kind words, Alistair. I'll do my best to fulfill your expectations. Helping me with this task will be a man you all know and value highly, a man who is able to compensate in those areas I lack experience as I have to admit. I announce as my next husband and your new king: Mikhail Cousland."

Scattered applause started as Mikhail went to her side but still there doubts could be seen on many faces. "Your Highness, if I may be so impertinent please allow me to correct you in a small but important point. These times are difficult and we need security and permanency about the question of rulership. To explain my following decision all of you have to know something, something which is a secret of the grey wardens. Out of reasons I don't know and am unable to comprehend it is normally not allowed to speak about it, but you have to know."

It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. "The Archdemon, despite his size, can be killed as any other darkspawn. Or to be more exactly: his form can be destroyed quite normally. But to kill him permanently and avoid his new rise after death the killing stroke had to be done by a grey warden." Mikhail waved the assembly to be silent again. "The exact reason is difficult to explain but with this in mind you'll understand the necessity of having Alistair and me in the Archdemon's vicinity. The danger of us being killed in the fight is great and I don't want then new discussions to arise."

Bowing to Anora he exclaimed sincerely: "Queen Anora, I would be honored to be your Prince-Consort and co-ruler after the blight. But I have to demand that the assembly approves you as Ferelden's queen, irrespective of any future marriage. Alistair and I are sure that you will be a great queen and wish you success in all your intentions."

Breaking the silence it was Fergus who approved as the first one, Bann Alfstanna being an important second, her words proving her support despite Loghain's deeds. One Arl and Bann after the other voiced their acclaim, some as Eamon with an unhappy face, others as Delilah with much more enthusiasm.

All hail Anora, Queen of Ferelden!

_Denerim – Royal Palace, 9:31, Wintermarch 2nd Evening _

From the large number of noblemen at the Landsmeet only the most important were called to the military meeting in the evening. Arl Eamon was the first to arrive, the Arls of South Reach and West Hills and the ambassadors of the elves, dwarves and Starkhaven following swiftly. At Teyrn Fergus's side Arlessa Delilah entered the chamber, this move another time showing his support for the young woman. Bann Alfstanna was called to the meeting for the Banns and Alistair for the Grey Wardens. But they were the last arrivals that caused the most stares.

Shortly before Queen Anora entered the room Mikhail, Natasha and Cullen could be seen together with Loghain and Cauthrien, both very pale and trying to walk very upright.

"I don't want these traitors around me," Eamon hissed forgoing any politeness.

Mikhail only stared icily at him: "As the Commander of Ferelden's army it is my and only my decision who is allowed to attend this meeting. Grey Warden Loghain and Grey Warden Cauthrien are here on my personal wish."

More than one attendant inhaled deeply, certainly both because of the invitation as the announcement that these two soldiers were Grey Wardens now.

"As I declared this afternoon we need Grey Wardens to slay the Archdemon. Loghain and Cauthrien are two of the best warriors and officers in Ferelden. Loghain's abdication was politically and personally motivated, not military. And I'm sure no one would deny Ser Cauthrien to be one of the most competent swordfighters there are. Furthermore as I intend to split the army it would be careless not to strengthen the number of our Grey Wardens. Both have joined our ranks this afternoon." Subduing any complaints with his stare Mikhail waved his brother Fergus to explain the plan.

"A large army of darkspawn is gathering at former Lothering. It is sending scouts and pillagers in the direction of Redcliffe. Another army seems to be on the way to the Brecilian forest, their most possible target would be Denerim. The strength and exact location of this second army is unknown. Because of this we will split the army in four parts.

Senior Warden Alistair assisted from Warden Cauthrien and Arl Eamon will defend Redcliffe with the armies of Redcliffe, West Hill and South Reach. They will be strengthened by the army of Orzammar under Captain Kardol and the combined force of the Calenhad Circle under Templar-Lieutenant Cullen.

Scouting the frontier will fall to my chasind scouts. The army of Gwaren is assigned to my command and it will be my duty to attack the darkspawn from behind." Marking the various troops on the map Fergus waited for approving nods of the addressed.

The third division under Warden Commander Mikhail, Warden Loghain and Arlessa Delilah is going to protect Denerim. Mikhail will command the armies of Denerim, Highever and Amaranthine. The Dalish warriors belong to his domain but will observe the Brecilian Forest in the first phase. It will fall to the Dalish to scout the second Darkspawn army as soon as possible. Senior Warden Natasha will command the Starkhaven Mages and Templars in Denerim.

The last and perhaps most important division will stay in the Bannorn under the command of Bann Alfstanna, assisting her Bann Teagan and Ambassador Goran Vael. With the soldiers of the Bannorn and Starkhaven under her control it will be Bann Alfstanna's duty to support Redcliffe or Denerim as soon as we know the main attack route of the Archdemon's forces."

Mikhail nodded to his brother. "As you see we have to split the troops and station them thinly, too thinly to my own liking. But we have to be able to react. Scouts and messengers will be the weapon of the hour, giving the commanders the possibility to concentrate to the right time at the right spot. Every man and every leader has to be resilient and inventive in their duty. With combined effort we will be able to shelter this storm."


	67. Chapter 67 Aux arms citoyens

**Aux armes citoyens**

_Denerim – Royal Palace, 9:31, Wintermarch 4th Midmorning _

"The working crews are enhancing the fortifications at these places." Loghain pointed to various locations on the map, some of them as Mikhail had expected. Other weak spots had not been known to him and he was thankful that he could leave this task to Loghain's experience. "The work should be done in two days. After that we'll reinforce the second ring and the area around Fort Drakon."

Mikhail sighed. He really hoped that it wouldn't come to that, that there won't be a battle in the center of Denerim. But his fears said that Loghain was right. They had no idea about the location of the second army and its strength, they couldn't be certain if they would be able to hold them back until the other armies arrived.

"Iona begged me to revoke the law that prohibits elves from carrying weapons." Mikhail looked to Delilah. The young Howe had shouldered her duties very well since the landsmeet, taken away from him the burden to solve all the civilian problems that arose in preparing the city for the fight. He felt the frown on Loghain's face, but didn't hesitate a moment before he agreed. "It will only be the first step of some changes that will happen in the alienage." Delilah smiled at him with relief. "I hoped you'll say that 'cause … I already followed her request." Mikhail smirked only before he turned back to Loghain: "Show me where our scouts are now …"

_Denerim – Royal Palace, 9:30, Wintermarch 4th Early Evening_

"I should have asked Alistair."

"No," Natasha looked at the woman she loved so deeply. Sometimes Morrigan could be a real ass.

"But he would comply with my wishes." The witch's voice reminded of a grumpy child now.

"Yes, he would, but only out of gratitude."

"What's wrong with gratitude? I rescued his red-haired fancy woman and he spends a night with me. You can be sure it would hurt me more than him."

Natasha flinched and for a very short moment regret showed on Morrigan's face. The mage's answer was edgier than intended. "I'll speak with Mikhail and now stop it." Closing the door behind her with too much force she stormed to the room where she knew Mikhail to be working over some papers. It wouldn't be the first night he spent here and not with … Natasha sighed. The sound startled the warrior and for a moment he looked at her without recognizing, his mind too involved with the papers in front of him. But then he smiled at Natasha and waved her to sit down.

Silently she watched him as he wrote some orders, sending messengers away with them. On a silent glance of Natasha his adjutant left the room and closed the door behind him. The mage kneaded her knuckles thinking about how to begin.

"You'll leave tomorrow?" Mikhail asked softly. Natasha nodded. "With the first light I'll leave. I'm about to meet Keeper Lanaya at afternoon. I hope she'll have some signs of the darkspawn army by then."

Mikhail agreed: "This would be good. Loghain needs at least another four days to prepare the city, five would be better. The messengers from Fergus said that he expect the battle at Redcliffe to take place within the next two or three days. But … you have other things in mind, don't you?"

He looked in her eyes and there he saw something. _She has unpleasant news for me, something that troubles her and yet thinks that it has to be done_. "Yes, we have to speak …"

And then she told him, about the plan Morrigan had in mind, the way to protect the wardens, prohibit that one of them had to die together with the Archdemon. _In the end, sacrifice_, that had been the part about wardens that had troubled him the most in these days, the reason he had demanded Anora to be queen without any conditions. His face went bland as he glared in silence at Natasha, the mage getting uneasy by the moment. "What do you think, Mikhail? Say something, anything."

"I'll do it," he simply stated with a flat voice.

Baffled Natasha stared at him. "That's … that's all? No questions, no objections, no 'Natasha are you mad for simply proposing it'?"

Mikhail shrugged and a weak smile crossed his face. "Natasha, you trust my leadership; that I know. What you perhaps never understood: I trust your counsel. We both know how much it must have cost you to ask someone to do this … especially with her." Natasha flinched but didn't interrupt him. "There are some things to discuss about, details about the … task and the consequences. But you asked and I'm sure you think it to be the best way. And I'm happy that you asked me and not Alistair … or Loghain."

Natasha only snorted about that idea. "She may be a bitch sometimes but she wouldn't deserve that." Her face softened now. "She wants to leave afterwards. She demands to be solely responsible for the child's uprising. From the notes of her mother about this ritual I know that it is meant to be without taint, so you won't sire some kind of darkspawn. But perhaps you'll never see this child."

Mikhail's face darkened but he agreed nonetheless. "Will you go with her?"

"Yes, as long as she allows me to stay with her and at least until the child is born and safe. You'll have to be without me for a while."

"I'll miss you. But I thank you again for that. I'll feel better knowing that you'll be there to watch."

Natasha stood up and went to the door, halting there shortly. "You should tell Iona about it. And if you have need of it later … Morrigan promised me to teach me the fertility part of the ritual." Hope flickered in Mikhail's eyes. "I would be able to sire more children … with her?" He let unspoken whom he meant with 'her'.

"Yes, you … and Alistair. About parting the knowledge to the rest of the order … that we'll have to decide later." Silently she closed the door. _What will Iona think about this_?

_Brecilian Forest, 9:31, Wintermarch 5th Late Afternoon _

_Feel thy magic._

With elven scouts leading the way it had been easy to reach the meeting point at the appointed time. Natasha liked the feeling of wood around her. It was as if the trees were singing to her. In the last days she sensed the magic in her rising. Perhaps it was because the Archdemon was about to show himself. Since she entered the Brecilian Forest her blood had been pounding, the magic singing like … she couldn't remember when it had been this the last time. Even in her fight against Flemeth she had not known this kind of tremor in her soul.

_Open to me._

Lanaya had been very kind despite her great trouble. The dalish scouts had been able to localize some groups of darkspawn and destroyed a few formations of pillagers, but there were plainly too many of them. If they believed the esteemed numbers there were much more darkspawn than expected, far too many to hold out long enough for the other armies to arrive.

_I could help you._

"Are your people in security?" Natasha asked the Keeper, kneading her temples.

The mage gulped, tried to concentrate to the conversation, holding back this …

_Don't suppress your feelings, you know it better._

"Yes, we've moved our elders, children and a part of the hunters to the north. Around eight hundred of us remained in the forest, more than enough to destroy their pillagers and scouts but not nearly to battle the main army."

Natasha remembered how those emotions run thru her body and mind in her youth. Magic breaking any bonds, caressing her as a lover would. _You'll like it. You'll need it. You can't sacrifice all these Dalish. You can save them from certain death. You can buy Mikhail the time to prepare, borough Alistair the time to gather his army_.

Natasha breathed heavily. Could she do this, should she do this? Lanaya noticed the mage's inner turmoil but held back. She didn't know this woman enough to interrupt, to give advice.

_Let me out. Open your veins to the fade; channel the energy. Give yourself to the magic._

Groaning deeply Natasha nodded to an invisible colloquist, troubling Lanaya only the more. As she started to ask Natasha, the mage came to her senses again. "I'll have to hinder them, to delay their advance. But I'll need help. Give me a handful of your hunters, Dalish you trust. They have not to interfere in any way but sooner or later they'll have to carry me away. Don't expect an explanation. Please do it for my sake."

Keeper Lanaya complied.

_And the magic roared in her veins._

_Redcliffe, 9:31, Wintermarch 6th Evening_

"We'll be too late," Alistair bemoaned, ignoring the pain in his leg as Wynne tried to mend the broken bone. The battle had been vicious but victorious, Fergus arriving at the right time to smash in the rear of the darkspawn horde that was attacking Redcliffe. Playing hammer and anvil with the darkspawn they had been able to crush the forces with much less fatalities than feared.

"We have to care for the wounded and the men need rest. Alfstanna is informed; she'll be at Denerim in two days. They have to hold out until we arrive, they simply have to." Fergus tried to calm Alistair's fears but he knew how unconvincing he would be.

Cauthrien stayed silent, agreeing with Alistair in his fears. Since she departed with him for Redcliffe, she had come to respect him. Certainly he was no equal to Loghain or Mikhail, but he had done much better than expected, much better than his brother. With Alistair commanding the army at Ostagar … no, she knew I wouldn't have ended otherwise. It had all depended on Loghain, on his faulted battle plan and his decision to depart in the heat of the battle.

Alistair had been able to organize the defenders with ease, hearing to Cauthrien's suggestions but unafraid to ignore her on other occasions. He hadn't fought as she would, but the victory proved him right. The only sour point about him was his trust in Arl Eamon. Cauthrien disliked the man with all her heart. She was unsure how much of that stemmed from Loghain's critic but certainly she would have liked to have him less around Alistair. At least he was to stay in Redcliffe when the army marched in the morning.

"Wynne, what are you doing?" Alistair lashed out to grip the elder mage's arms, prevented her from falling to the ground.

Wynne shuddered, her eyes wide open. Lightning flashed thru the sky. As they looked up there were dark clouds to be seen in the south-east were sunshine had been only an hour before. The sky darkened from minute to minute, many more lightning following the first, a dreary grumble filling the air as the waves of thunder reached Redcliffe. "This is over the Brecilian Forest, right?" Alistair asked nervously. Fergus only nodded, looking back at Wynne. The elder mage slowly came back to her mind but her eyes trembled in fear.

"What has she done? That's her, the Storm-witch." Incomprehension in their eyes they stared at Wynne. Only Alistair seemed to remember something. _Storm-witch, storm-witch, someone had called her so_ … "Natasha?"

_Brecilian Forest, 9:31, Wintermarch 6th Evening _

The Dalish looked at the mage in awe. Since hours she had been there among the stones and trees of this old place of power. As Lanaya ordered them to do, they stood back, didn't say a word, only watched. Something happened, they could feel it, even with none of them capable of casting magic themselves, something Natasha had demanded in the first.

Their skin tingled, their hairs bobbed up. Slowly the sky darkened as clouds gathered, some of them moving against the wind as if torn by an invisible force. Natasha stood in the middle of the circle, hands raised to the sky, electricity crackling around her slim body. She had stored her armor away, only wearing some paintings now she had applied mostly herself, a young huntress willing to help to draw them on her rear.

Naked as the creators made her, she wove her spells. Rapture could be seen on her face, groans of pleasure escaped her throat. They jerked as lightning connected Natasha and the sky, the source not being a cloud but the mage. The sky answered with thunderous moaning. More clouds gathered, more lightning left the mage's body. The winds enhanced and before long the Dalish had to cower under their force. Only Natasha stood furthermore in the open, ignoring the doom around her.

Blood, blood could be seen running from her nose, from the edges of her mouth and her eyes and ears. The Dalish nearly left their cover as they realized that some scars, wounds from former battles, reopened and splattered her body in blood; and the blood was not simply red as it should be but it seemed to gleam, pale blue light blazing from the open wounds. The winds enhanced, changed to a storm, bending the trees around them. Thunderbolts hit the ground and the first raindrops followed, drenching the ground as they increased to a full rainstorm. The water shortly cleaned the mage's body but more blood followed.

Cowing the thunderstorm's noise around her the mage began to sing something in chasind, her voice easily able to overlay the clashes of thunder and lightning. As if she was out of her mind joy and pure pleasure could be heard from Natasha; the sequence of lightning only increased.

Then, without announcement, Natasha crumbled to the ground.

_And the magic roared in the sky._


	68. Chapter 68 Redemption

**Redemption**

_Denerim - Fort Drakon, 9:31, Wintermarch 9th Midday_

She felt so weak, but a kind of comforting tranquility permeated her body and mind. Relief she had not known for months or years. Natasha listened but there was no song in her, no begging to release it, only the content sleep of magic. She had unleashed the magic there in the stone circle and magic slept in her like a child after a beautiful and exhausting day on the playground.

Someone was sitting beside her, a woman but not 'her'. A foreign scent she sensed, an unknown breathing she heard. The mage opened her eyes. The sunshine was blocked by heavy blue curtains, the rest of light that was able to pervade them reflected by simple white walls. A single painting of a hunt in the woods, simply crafted from a not very talented painter, tried to spend a tiny spark of comfort in the otherwise spartan room.

"How do you feel, warden?" A very sweet voice embraced her. Blonde hair, a relative simple dress and almost no jewelry she wore. The sight astonished Natasha. From all women she would never had expected to see her as the first after awakening, Queen Anora. As she tried to sit up, Anora gripped her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her back.

"This witch, she was very firm in her orders. You're not allowed to stand up this afternoon and not to leave the room before tomorrow morning. And if you wonder about sneaking out you should know that she left this Qunari out there to stand watch."

Natasha sighed but complied. "I'm fine, a bit weak but … how long?"

"Three days you were out. Two days ago the Dalish brought you back. This witch … she has quite a temperament. She was very willing to kill someone, the Dalish, Mikhail … you." Anora smiled at the mage, the pictures of that moment in her mind.

"She doesn't like me to use this amount of magic. But it was needed. I hope it helped."

Anora padded her arm. "It had. This storm you unleashed stalled the darkspawns's advance for two days, perhaps three. Thanks to you Bann Alfstanna had been able to arrive at Denerim without losses only hours before the first groups of darkspawn left the forest."

"And Alistair, have you heard something about Redcliffe?"

"They have won, beaten a smaller army of the darkspawn. But there had been no sign of the Archdemon. They are on their way to Denerim now. But we don't know if they'll arrive in time. This horde is so large." Despite Anora trying hard Natasha heard despair in her voice. Now it was her time to pad Anora's arm.

"All will be fine, we'll win. You've Mikhail on your side. He'll defend Denerim for you." The amount of trust in her voice and face was boundless and reached Anora's heart instantly, whipping away all fear she had felt the last days since the reports about the horde. A faint smile showed on her lips.

"You're right. Before I forget: Morrigan had a message for you. I have to say 'it is done'. I don't know what she meant with that, but it seemed to be important."

Natasha closed her eyes. So she had spent the night with Mikhail, succeeded in receiving the child.

"Are it bad news," Anora asked troubled about the view of Natasha's face.

Natasha shook her head. "Troubling they are, yes, difficult news, but not bad."

"Good, good. And now, if you aren't too weak I would like to ask you something. Please do tell me about Mikhail. And tell me about this elven maiden that dueled one of my Banns …"

_Denerim – Main Gates, 9:31, Wintermarch 10th Midmorning _

Since hours the darkspawn had been attacking the main gates. Bann Alfstanna used the short break between two waves to look around. They had killed hundreds of them, their corpses filling the field and ditch in front of her. But many of her soldiers had been killed too. Around a third of the Bannorn's soldiers had been killed or wounded. At least they had been able to bring the wounded into the second ring, out of the way if she would be forced to leave the gates.

Alfstanna flinched at the thought. She had been happy to reach the city in time, her luck explained thru the rumors filling the street, rumors about the mage warden casting weather magic not seen since … Alfstanna had no idea how long. Her soldiers had been able to regroup, to rest. Now she was assigned to defend the gates and she didn't want to disappoint Mikhail … or Fergus. Sweet Fergus, she hoped he was fine, hoped that the battle in Redcliffe went well. It had been a victory the messengers said. Surely they would have known if Fergus was wounded or …

"Milady, they're coming …" With a sigh Alfstanna turned around.

_Denerim – Fort Drakon, 9:31, Wintermarch 10th Midday _

"You'll stay with me," Mikhail grumbled.

Natasha waved angrily. "Loghain needs me at his side. I have to …"

"You have to stay with me and recover. Sten, you'll go with him. Natasha, Loghain is a big, mean man; he's able to care for himself." Mikhail's cold stare forced Natasha to sit down very unhappy. "Fine."

Meanwhile Loghain gathered his troops, mostly the men of Starkhaven they had stored away as a reserve. The news from Alfstanna had been bad. Loghain thought highly of the Bann but with these sheer masses of enemies it had only been a question of time before they breached the gates. He only had hoped they could hold out for another day. As it seemed the Archdemon felt too that it was a question of time; that his troops had to be fast in conquering the city before Alistair arrived. Loghain snorted. He had never expected to pray for Alistair's arrival. At least Cauthrien was with him, and Fergus, the young Cousland being a positive surprise and good educated by his father as it seemed.

The noises of clashing swords reached his ears. As he turned around the last corner he saw the gates wide open, one wing totally splintered, the other one only held by one hinge. Alfstanna led her men charging into the flank of a large group of darkspawn around a giant hurlock. A handful of ogres were bashing the defenders, mostly ignoring the attacks of their tiny enemies.

"For Ferelden" his shout raised over the noises around him, as Loghain charged into the fray. To his right he saw Alfstanna tackling one of the ogres, cutting his knee-sinew and slashing his throat. He went down in an awful mess of blood. Leaving another ogre to Sten's greatsword Loghain stormed in Alfstanna's direction. Distracted by her fight against the ogre she had not noticed that the Hurlock General turned her way. A lash to her leg forced the woman to the ground. With a creepy guffaw the Hurlock neared, parrying her weak sword strikes with ease before he kicked against her arm. The Bann's weapon clattered away, leaving the brave woman mostly defenseless as her enemy raised his axe to behead her.

"Not she," with an angry shout Loghain charged into the Hurlock, shield ahead he pushed him away and took position above her. "Sten, I need you here," he roared while he parried and slashed at several lesser Hurlocks around him. Turning away from the ogre he just killed, Sten hurried at Loghain's side to take a defending position. "No, drag her away. Carry the Bann to the second gate." Both Alfstanna as Sten opposed his order shortly but Loghain shouted: "I've no time for this nonsense. Ferelden needs her, carry her away, Sten, and follow my order." With a short salute Sten gripped the wounded woman with his left, ignored her shouts and put her on his shoulder.

The Hurlock General saw his target slipping, the woman who had stalled his progress at the gates for hours. But as he tried to follow the Qunari he found Loghain anew hindering his advance. He purchased Alfstanna's soldiers the time to draw away and prepare the second line. But he did this with the life of his men, one by one dying around him while he killed another ogre and felt his vigor melting away as he battled the Hurlock General. As his last men went to the ground more and more of the darkspawn surrounded him. Loghain didn't allow him to look back, could only hope that she would survive. She, the one woman who had deserved to demand his death for killing her brother; for killing that Templar who had done nothing wrong, only been at the wrong place as his men found that damned blood mage. She had done nothing of that but supported Mikhail as he announced Anora as queen.

A stab hit him at his side, a bash on the shoulder, but he felt only the joy of battle. What would Anora do? She would survive as she always did. He slashed a Genlock who tried to pierce him with a crude dagger. Mikhail had been true to his word, had announced her as queen. And he had done more than this in declaring her queen irrespective of his own fate. He would be a good king, a good husband. Not as that traitorous bastard Cailan. The Hurlock General's axe smashed his shield and broke his arm. Loghain hardly noticed as he pressed the attack.

Unfeeling to the vicious stabs, thrusts and slashes from all sides he gathered the rest of his might. He only had one regret: that he didn't succeed in killing that bastard Eamon. His sword pierced the General's heart moments before all went dark. _Anora_.

_Denerim – Fort Drakon, 9:31, Wintermarch 10th Evening _

She sat in the small chamber, the tablet with sandwiches and cacao Erlina brought an hour before still untouched. The red light of sundown permeated the room, but she didn't notice. In her mind was only the face of Alfstanna, the Bann slumping into the hall, a blood-soaked bandage around her leg. "He saved me; he killed their leader and stalled their attack. He bought us time with his death. Your father died a proud and honorable death. I forgive him his deeds before."

_He died an honorable death_. She had hoped for some more days with him around, perhaps weeks or even … perhaps there would have been an escape, a way to rescue him from the executioner's block. She knew she should be happy for him; this had been his wish, to die in battle. But she could only feel her sorrow. Anora was unable to weep, too long had she been educated to suppress her emotions.

Strong arms embraced her, pulled her against his breast. For a moment she resisted, but then she relented, rested her head on his shoulder. Silently Mikhail spoke about Highever, about the last moments of his parents. He told her what Iona had said. _It's nothing so hard as not to be able to control your life. Please, let your mother decide her fate_. It had been her father's decision to die this way, his decision to amend his deeds, to find redemption.

For the first time since childhood Anora wept freely.


	69. Chapter 69 At your Side

**Nearing the end of this story I want to thank my readers and reviewers, especially Mike3207. I hope I'll see you again when I start my sequel. It will describe most importantly (but not only) the events around the witch hunt.**

**At your side**

_Denerim – Fort Drakon - Roof, 9:31, Wintermarch 11th Midday _

The sky was clouded above him. Small drops of rain poured on the ground and soaked his cloak. Shortly his eyes went to the horizon, to the point where the road disappeared between the hills.

"He'll come," Natasha whispered at his side. Mikhail nodded, tried to share her certainty. He knew that his battle-plan had been flawless, that it had been the best decision to be made. Nobody could have known the sheer size of the horde. Without Natasha's storm the darkspawn would have already won the battle, would be burning and defiling the city. Even now his soldiers were retreating at all fronts. The whole night and the morning there had been small battles. The market quarter they'd lost but Loghain's sacrifice and the kill of that darkspawn general, stalled the advance, and gave them another twelve hours.

But Alfstanna, the Bann after mending her leg-wound back at the front, sent him the message that another leader had shown up, some kind of Genlock Emissary. They were losing ground and it would be his decision how to react.

"I'll help Delilah in preparing the quarters for the refugees. The south quarters are still secure. We'll block the entrances and hope that the main thrust will be directed at Fort Drakon."

Mikhail nodded again. "Make sure she sleeps a bit. Knock her out if needed."

"I can do that," Natasha smiled, but she remembered how the young Howe had been looking after at least two days without resting. "Isabela's ships are ready. She 'convinced' the other captains to take the elder people and children on board. Her Siren is full of archers and guarding the weak spot at the harbor wall."

"She's a good one, despite her mouth." Mikhail turned away from the sight and started to leave the roof of Fort Drakon. "I've to go and help Alfstanna. Watch yourself, Natasha."

The mage watched the warrior disappear. "May the Maker watch you, Mikhail."

As he entered the Fort's main hall, Mikhail saw Sergeant Kylon and his men awaiting him. To his surprise an additional group of warriors stood at the door, a large group of city elves and a handful of dalish hunters, all lead by Shianni. Her uncle Cyrion stood at her side and there … he paled as he saw her, the well-known bow in her hand. He barely heard Cyrion talking about these elves wanting to help him defend the alienage. The elven quarter would be the next to be fought over after losing the second gate.

"You can't … you have to … Amethyne, she …"

"Don't you dare to leave me behind." Her eyes were a mix of pleading and resolve. "Leliana is watching her together with Alistair's nephews. She'll be fine."

Mikhail looked at Shianni and Cyrion, hoping to find support there. But the elder elf only shrugged, his eyes speaking of _what have you expected_? And Shianni only looked at him as if he was an interesting insect, searching for hints about … something.

"Look Mikhail, I'm not the only one her with family and surely I'm better prepared for battle than most of them. I can't stay here. You can stay at Fort Drakon or you can go out, but not alone. My place is at your side. Ever it will be."

His throat went dry and before his eyes began to get wet Mikhail hastily nodded and left the hall, leading Kylon and Shianni with their men to the battle.

Nobody saw the slender shape with the thoughtful expression on her face looking after them.

"Elder Cyrion? I would like to discuss something with you."

_Denerim – Alienage, 9:31, Wintermarch 11th Afternoon _

"Fire," Shianni's command broke the silence. Dozens of arrows crossed the distance to the advancing darkspawn, sending a score of them to the ground. Fear gripped her heart as she saw the masses of enemies not halting a step. But each time she or one of her archers needed a bit of composure they looked at 'her'. Behind the small palisade Iona had taken position on the roof of the former hospice, mostly out of range of the Genlocks' short bows. Using her greater range for good advantage she shot arrow after arrow in the midst of the horde. At her side laid her fierce Mabari Warrick seemingly unimpressed by the battle below him.

Kylon's men stood on caskets behind the palisade, hacking down on the darkspawn in front of them. Halberds were used to attack the single ogre between them to prevent the damage he could do to their shelter. Shianni felt herself pushed away by one of the dalish hunters. His name was Pol, she remembered. He was one of the not-born-but-chosen-dalish with an uprising in Denerim, eager to defend their old home. Heat waves crushed over them, fire engulfed the roof. Shianni heard the cries of pain from her archers. "We must leave the roof instantly," Pol dragged her away. Shianni broke away, hurried to one of the wounded. Berin was one of the wood crafters of the alienage. Often she had seen him talking with her uncle about some difficult carving. She had been guest at his wedding. His wife would expect her to watch him thru this fight. Together with Pol Shianni dragged him into security, listening to the sounds of battle below in the streets.

"We must kill him quickly," Mikhail pointed at the Genlock Emissary that started to throw fireballs and bolts of lightning around him. Kylon ordered a handful of his men at his side and killed two Hurlocks with swift strikes before he followed Mikhail across the palisade. Building a wedge they drove into the masses of darkspawn to the point where the emissary was waiting, seemingly unaware of the danger. _Mikhail, don't_. Iona watched the advance with horror and concentrated on the darkspawn around the men. Slowly they left the range of her bow. Hastily she looked around. _That roof_ she thought and over there to the burning one where Shianni had been standing a minute before.

With long strides and even longer jumps Iona made her way across the roofs, Warrick beside her. She nearly missed the last jump as she saw the darkspawn climbing onto the roof she wanted to reach. Two arrows and two killed Genlocks later she neared the edge, trusting Warrick to kill the other ones. Iona inhaled deeply as she looked down. The darkspawn had parted the way and the emissary threw a cone of lightning against the advancing men. Shields were raised and knees buckled to shelter from the magical storm, but at least two of them went down. Mikhail gritted his teeth and advanced further, faster now. Arcane arrows took another man down and wounded Kylon; then the warrior reached the Emissary and struck at him. Ineffective his sword bounced off the magical barrier the Genlock had erected around him. With despair rising in his heart Mikhail tried to break the barrier, to slap that grin out of the emissary's face.

Ignoring the arrows thumping in the wood around her or whistling by her ears or the barking of Warrick as he tore the throat of another Genlock, Iona reached for her quiver. _Dagna, I hope you made good work_. She nocked one of the arrows Cullen had given her, sent from Dagna for Leliana and her, brandishing the sign of the rune-smith. She aimed carefully, waited for a moment with Mikhail away from the Genlock and let loose. As a bolt of lightning the arrow crossed the distance, pierced the barrier with a flash of blue light and pierced the emissary's shoulder. Shocked he stumbled back, going to his knees as another arrow blasted the rest of his protection away and hit his stomach. With a battle cry Mikhail attacked anew. The emissary raised his hands in a futile attempt to thwart the attack. Mikhail's sword reached out and head and body of his enemy fell separated to the ground.

For a moment they locked eyes in the heat of the battle, the warrior and the maiden. Then Kylon dragged him away, back to the palisade, Warrick doing the same with Iona.

_Road to Denerim - Roof, 9:31, Wintermarch 11th Evening _

"Damn it!" Alistair looked at his leg with disgust. After three days of hard marching the wound had reopened and Wynne had been forced to tend it anew accompanying the treatment with quite an amount of scolding.

"Cauthrien, you'll lead the vanguard. Take the fittest soldiers with you. Fergus, you'll go with her with your Chasind. Perhaps you can take back the gates; that would surely help Mikhail to regroup his forces and take pressure from Fort Drakon.

Fergus agreed with the plan. His scouts had brought news about Denerim, the city still standing but the northern half mostly fallen to the horde. He had no problems to defer to Cauthrien in military matters despite his far higher standing. To make her a grey warden surely was one of the best decisions of his brother.

"Cauthrien, we don't know how the situation will be when you'll arrive. I trust you to make your own decisions how to advance. But please have in mind that you're not a simple soldier now, but a grey warden. Your life is precious. We don't know how many of the other wardens still live." With a stony face Cauthrien bowed her head slightly, quenched the fear in her heart as she thought about the man she respected and loved as a father since so many years. "I'll regard that."


	70. Chapter 70 I trust my Life

**I trust my life**

_Denerim –Fort Drakon, 9:31, Wintermarch 12th Midmorning _

"They're frantic in their attacks now." Mikhail mulled over Alfstanna's statement and he agreed with her opinion. But why happened this? The whole night there had been tiny but endless waves of attackers, the defenders now forced to remain inside the Fort. The last fortifications around had been lost two hours before. With this steady onslaught it would only be a matter of time before his forces crumbled, weakened by exhaustion.

But now the storm had token a new tier of intensity. And while the streets around the Fort were overcrowded with Darkspawn now, the rest of the city seemed disturbingly silent. On the one hand he was relieved. The refugees in the south quarter would be relatively secure for a while now. But the situation at the Fort had deteriorated dramatically. Mikhail feared that in two hours at most the Fort would fall now. Sure they would inflict terrible losses on the horde but that wouldn't matter.

"Perhaps the news is correct." For a moment Mikhail pondered which emotion in Alfstanna's voice he should endear, the hope or the fear. "It would be an explanation at least. If there are really the first troops from Redcliffe, then the Archdemon could have realized that this siege could be lost to him, lost if he's unable to break our spinal with capturing the Fort in time."

The second change this morning had been the appearance of the Archdemon Urthemiel. As a cloud of dark destruction he was hovering above the city, clear out of any archer's range. Could it be possible that he really feared normal weapons? Or was it only the whim of a creature beyond nature, unwilling to get annoyed by simple mortals?

"He could do much damage to Alistair's troops. And with this pressure he could be willing to enter a risk he would avoid normally: fighting us directly." _Fighting us_, Mikhail didn't like this word combination in Iona's words. But he realized that he didn't stand any chance to convince her to leave him now. "You're right. We should try at least. Are you all ready for this dance?" The warrior looked around.

Iona only locked eyes with him, unwilling to give any answer that could betray her feelings in this moment.

Zevran smiled broadly. "With so many beautiful women around me how could I deny the possibility to witness this dance of destruction?"

"Let's get over with this. I have important things to do." Morrigan's sentence brought a shiver on Mikhail's spine.

_At least Leliana would be secure_. Mikhail had no idea how Iona had been able to convince the bard to stay with the kids in her stead.

"Morrigan, stay away and out of danger. No word, sister, stay away." Natasha glared at the witch and Morrigan complied. "And you Petra please go down. Certainly we need a good healer afterwards and we don't know where Wynne is now. And I certainly don't want to explain Wynne why her favorite disciple is dead. Best would be …"

"Shut up." Natasha head snapped up. The mage glared in disbelieve at the otherwise so friendly Petra. "If I understand correctly your about to 'attract' the Archdemon, pulling him into attacking you. Seems to me that you'll need any protection and healing that is available. And by the way: You don't want to tell her about my death? Do you have any idea what Wynne will do to me if I let her daughter die after promising to watch you?"

Natasha tried several times to start a sentence but in the end Petra stopped her with a hand-wave. "What did you think her emotions could be about you, stupid girl? Now stop this nonsense and do your duty. And allow me to do mine."

Natasha gulped several times, the smirks of Zevran and Mikhail in no way helpful to soothe her inner conflict. Then she simply dragged Petra in her arms. "Yes, good now, away with you." Her face contradicting the harsh words Petra shoved Natasha away.

Zevran felt as if Natasha would erect a very large direction sign above her head, a type of giant arrow pointing at her labeled 'come and kill me', as Natasha began to target the cloud above her with lightning bolts. Slowly she took position in the middle of the roof, Mikhail and Zevran running to one of the ballista and the other mages holding some distance to Natasha but still in range for some healing spells.

Instantly the Archdemon noticed the spells. An angry roar thundered over the city, sending all living creature to cower in fear. A second bolt, a third bolt, then the Dragon changed direction and began to circle the fort in invariably closer arcs. The Dalish on the roof remained in cover as Natasha started to throw relatively weak arcane bolts at the Dragon. A second roar reached the fort; then he turned anew and flew directly at Natasha, the mage full in the open, the weak force field around her no match for the fire breath the Dragon started to exhale.

_Magic I call you. Magic hear my pleading. Help me in this hour. _

"She is opening again," Morrigan whispered terrified. Petra only nodded weakly.

There were demons all around her, the Fort having been a focus of bad emotions for too long. Rage demons battered at her barriers, screeched to be let in.

_I don't hate you, Archdemon. Here is now room for hate but only love_. Natasha pushed aside any fear she may feel, any hatred against the Dragon, any bad feeling that had amassed in the last months. For a moment she marveled at the sight of the dragon, the powerful movements, the graceful neck and the shimmering scales. Surely this entity had been created by the Maker; nothing so beautiful could exist outside its will.

_Iona as she gave Mikhail the potion. Leliana saved from the ships. Alistair she saw with his nephews, Mikhail playing with Amethyne, Morrigan calling her sister and then the inner sanctum, the urn of ashes_. Natasha remembered the best moments of this time, the best feelings and the love as she embraced Wynne at the tower and Morrigan after Flemeth's death.

Petra weaved a life ward spell, knowing that it won't be enough. Morrigan's heart slipped a beat as she could only watch in horror as the Dragon passed the roof and opened his mouth. With a mostly lazy gesticulation Natasha released the magical energies she collected in a flash of pure white light, blazing in a way that Morrigan had to shut her eyes for a moment, just after witnessing how the flash missed the head of the dragon by the length of a body. The witch listened, fully anticipating the noises of flesh burned crispy and bones crushed into a thousand splinters.

There she was, she, the creature that had cost him nearly the victory by stalling the movements of his army with this incredible storm. He sensed the magic flowing thru her body, the same magic he had sensed a week before as she smashed his horde, pummeled it with strong winds and plunged its steps with muddy ground. He would end that now, destroy this irritable creature and rip it apart until only shreds would be left behind. He neared the roof and inhaled deeply. She stood there, openly defying his rage, raising her arm to wave another spell. This would be stronger than the childish bolts she had thrown earlier but he felt secure enough, trusted in his strong scales.

Magic rushed into her body and was to be released. In the last second he felt the sheer amount of magic and sensed his error, sensed that she directed her spell not against his head and body but slightly to the side. Could it be? Should he turn? Hasty thoughts they were but still too slow. In the moment his brain sent the impulse to alter the direction of his flight, that stubborn mage opened her fully to the flows of magic, the flash passing the dragon's head and slashing his right wing like a giant's sword. The energies ripped the skin from the bones, tore sinews and muscles apart and caused the dragon to shriek in agony.

The terrible uproar caused Morrigan to cast up her eyes. Losing the use of one wing let the dragon lose his ability to fly instantly. The direction of its flight changed to the right and he crashed to the ground, passing the mage which ducked under the left wing only by a handful of feet distance. She blinked in disbelief, unable to comprehend the change of events, the circumstance of Natasha not being dead. _This time its face-slapping with a plate-gauntlet_, Morrigan mused as she tried hard to get back her countenance.

Zevran gulped at the sight but the movements beside him caused him to snap back into reality. With a stony face Mikhail worked, suppressing any emotions, forgetting anything he saw in front of him as he operated the ballista. The moment the dragon raised his head and started to turn around to confront Natasha, Mikhail pulled the lever. The large spear left the war-machine and hit a point shortly above the shoulders at the broad base of the dragon's neck. Moments later the dalish left their cover and started to pepper the dragon's sides and especially the upper neck and head with their arrows. Much slower but more carefully Iona followed their example, targeting for the small dragon's eyes. She knew that the chance of hitting one of them was only slim but she hoped that she could distract the dragon at least a bit.

Only a pitiful rest of the right wing was attached to the dragon's body, the outer half dragged behind like the stained train of a gown. The next spear left the ballista and hit the lower half of the right hind leg, forcing another shriek from the dragon. An arrow against the snout missed his right eye only by a few inches. The dragon turned away, the started flaming breath dying in its mouth.

An eerie voice lifted above the battle's noises, a voice singing sweet tunes of joy. Morrigan was unable to trust her ears as she realized that Natasha was singing a chasind children's song, verses to greet the spring after a long and dark winter. There was no place for fear in her voice, any anger or scorn, but only joy, hope and love. Of flowers she sang which opened to the new sun, of animals leaving their dens to greet the light.

Waves of magic passed the witch, it sensed like sitting in a full bathtub with someone pulling out the plug. Rage demons waded in the waters of magic like sharks, shrieking in terror, unable to stand these emotions, unable to pierce the barriers around Natasha.

_Flow magic flow._

Another lazy gesture as if the mage wanted to caress the dragon's side. _You're so beautiful_. Another flash of magic, this time hitting the dragon square in the face, burning its left eye and smelting away a third of the head. The dragon raised its head, then stood silently still for a few moments, unable to evade the next bolts or to shield its head from the arrows. Not a single sound left its mouth, the pain being too intense.

Natasha went on her knees, the two spells draining away all her energy. Her staff clattered to the floor, her voice trembled away. The hail of arrows drummed against the dragon's head, Iona's carefully targeted rune-arrow missed the right eye only by a wide of a finger, sending hot dragon blood to splash and clouding his vision. Meticulously Mikhail pointed the ballista at the right foreleg and released the next spear. It hit the knee and with a deep groan the dragon started to fall, burying its hurt wing under its body, unable to move more than tail and head, slapping with its unwounded wing furiously but futile.

Drawing his sword Mikhail left the ballista and started to cross the roof. Circling the dragon he directed his run to its head. Panting heavily Natasha looked at Morrigan, pleading with her eyes for a renewing spell. Moments passed, moments in which the witch pondered about denying the plea. She was sure that the ritual had worked, that Natasha would survive the killing stroke. But a slim chance remained that her mother had erred, a slim chance that she was not willing to …

_Everyone should be able to choose her fate_. Mikhail neared the head of the dragon, the Dalish stopping their fire and staring in awe as the warrior raised his sword. Another look of Natasha and as she tried to stand up Morrigan renewed the mage's energy with her own spells. Grasping for a bit of the magical turmoil around her, Natasha cast a prison spell at Mikhail, encasing him in magical bonds, stopping his movement.

A cry left the warrior's throat as he realized what his sister-in-arms had done. Painfully slowly Natasha hobbled nearer, almost unable to lift her spear-staff. Her words were only a whisper as she passed Mikhail. "I trust my life on Morrigan's words, but I'll not wager yours."

As in slow motion she made the last few steps, the dragon eyeing her with its broken face, more sensing than seeing who was nearing. Lashing out the dragon tried to bite this creature, to lock his terrible jaws around the slender frame and snap it in halves. With a last swift motion the mage evaded the attack, turned around full circle and pierced the dragon's neck with the blade of her staff, forcing it with her magic to penetrate the scales and thrust thru flesh and muscles into the dragon's brain.

For a whole second all movements stopped on the roof, all thoughts ended and all senses went dumb. Then … there was only light.


	71. Chapter 71 Parting Ways

**Parting Ways**

_Denerim –Fort Drakon, 9:31, Wintermarch 12th Midmorning _

Slowly the light subsided. The companions on the Fort's roof got back their senses and minds. Morrigan stood stone silent, unable to look away from the slender frame on the floor. With a nearly incomprehensible and raspish voice she asked: "Does she live, Petra?"

For a moment the mage wanted to throw a harsh answer at the witch but something in her face stopped her. With a hint of compassion she responded instead: "She lives, but barely." The glow of life was there but only faint. Petra hurried at Natasha's side. Morrigan was unable to follow her instantly. She embraced her womb, sensing the child within, sensing the changes these last moments brought to her. Nothing would ever be the same. For the others the blight ended on this roof with the Archdemon's death but for her it was only the beginning. Iona dragging Mikhail away as Morrigan stepped nearer, her paces awkward, her face ragged. The witch staid clear from Petra while the mage examined Natasha.

"Naturally she is very exhausted from those two spells she casted. But there is something … special. Something happened as the Archdemon died and I can't say what exactly. She seems to be stable now. I fear we have to wait until Wynne is able to look after her. We should haul her into her chamber and then we can only pray."

Mikhail ordered some of the soldiers to prepare a litter. Slowly Morrigan sank on her knees beside Natasha's shoulders. An odd expression appeared on her face as she scrutinized the unconscious mage. _She will go_. The thought erupted in Iona's mind. With a compassionate voice she whispered into Morrigan's ear: "I'll care for her."

The witch looked up shortly, her eyes glistening, and nodded silently. Her regard went back to the mage on the floor. With a soft touch her fingertips caressed the facial features of Natasha. The words she whispered were inaudible even for the elf. Very slowly and unconfident Morrigan bowed down to Natasha, holding her face only a handbreadth above, her eyes wandering from the eyes to the nose and the mouth with the soft lips. Iona stopped the soldiers with the litter as Morrigan crossed the last centimeters and placed a very light kiss on her lips, the mouths nearly not connecting. After caressing the cheek a last time the witch stood up and smiled weakly at Iona.

"You're a strong woman, Iona. Good luck to you and your daughter." Mikhail's eyes went wide as the witch embraced Iona shortly, this being the first time he saw her starting such a compassionate gesture on someone other than Natasha. "I'll care for her," Iona repeated.

Slowly Morrigan walked to the staircase while the soldiers on Iona's signal hurried to Natasha and put her on the litter. The mage seemed to simply sleep, her face exhausted but relieved. As the elven maiden searched for the witch Morrigan was already gone, leaving no sign behind.

_Denerim – Palace – Warden Compound, 9:31, Wintermarch 12th Evening _

Thru the closed door Mikhail could hear Leliana singing with the children. They had brought Alistair's nephews and Amethyne to the compound and the bard tried hard to occupy the children's mind and soothe their emotions after these fearsome days. Her mood had been much better after Alistair's arrival.

The other door opened quietly and a very exhausted Wynne entered the room. Staying clear of Oghren – the dwarf snoring loudly after his victory drinking – the elder mage placed herself between Alistair, Zevran and Mikhail on an armchair. "She's still sleeping. We'll have to wait now. I've done what is possible but the effect of the Archdemon's death … perhaps we should simply be happy that she didn't die instantly." _As she was expected to do_. This statement was left unspoken.

Mikhail nodded slowly before he changed the subject. "Sten said that he would leave in a few days. He's only preparing his provisions and waiting for a ship. I was under the impression that he was relieved to quit before Natasha awakes."

Alistair smiled humorlessly. "I understand him. I wouldn't be eager to duel Natasha myself, even less after what she did with the Archdemon."

Wynne made a face. "I never understood why these two wanted to make a duel in the first place. They're kind of close friends and yet are eager to kill each other."

Alistair shrugged. "This question only Natasha can answer. Perhaps not even she can do that. Mikhail, did you know that she asked Cauthrien to train with her?"

Not really attending to Alistair's words the warrior remarked: "Tomorrow will be another meeting. Anora had called the landsmeet together. You're specially invited Alistair."

The ex-Templar smiled weakly. "As long as she didn't change her mind about her becoming Queen and you her King, err Prince-Consort …" Mikhail's responding look bothered Alistair. The Cousland seemed to know why Anora wanted him there. But he left the question unspoken.

In the next room Iona watched silently the children and Leliana while she pondered about the letter she had gotten an hour before. Anora had requested her attendance the next day together with Cyrion. The elven maiden hoped for some good news in regard of the elven alienage. What would the meeting bring?

_Denerim – Landsmeet, 9:31, Wintermarch 13th Midmorning _

The tension was much lower than a few days before at the last meeting. Even with many deaths to be mourned there were many relieved faces to be seen. Fergus stood beside Alfstanna. Obviously he still felt a bit uneasy in her vicinity after the Bann had greeted him the day before with a hearty hug and deep kiss, joy about him being alive and healthy on her face. Mikhail knew that his brother had agreed with Alfstanna to start slowly, that he needed time to handle the deaths of Oriana and Oren. But he hoped that someday he would see his brother happy again.

Many nobles looked exhausted, some of them were wounded. But apart from Loghain only Arl Eamon was absent. In his stead Teagan was attending. This could start some problems later but make the present day going on more smoothly.

After some words to the assembly about the victory the Queen had been silent for a while to give them time for cheering. But now she addressed them anew.

"There are many things to do now, many problems to solve, many questions to be answered. Some of them cannot be solved in a few sentences but have to be examined in the next months and decided on the next Landsmeet. But there are two choices that have to be done now, choices that will have repercussions on the reconstruction of Denerim. The city and its inhabitants have endured a lot in these days and the rebuilding should go as smoothly as possible. But we have to think about the future. We're able to make some decisions now that will enhance the situation for many citizens.

The most important question surely is: who should be the new Arl of Denerim. With Arl Urien and Bann Vaughan dead, the former Arl's family ceased to exist. I want to have someone in this position that can be trusted to help all citizens, someone who has the heart to know how his people feel. "

With the noblemen around him looking puzzled as they wondered of whom Anora could be speaking about, someone standing in the rear paled visibly.

"I want a very special man in this position who is able to take command in the case of military trouble." This position simultaneously would train him how to lead, how to rule. Thru this he should be able to take his place if somehow the need arose for someone to take reign of Ferelden. With the chance of her getting pregnant very slim she had to plan for the future. But these thoughts she better held tight to her heart. This was not the moment to scare him off.

The man in the rear began to tremble but before he was able to slip into the crowd a firm hand gripped his arm.

"Teyrn Fergus, Warden-Commander Mikhail and Bann Teagan speaking for Redcliffe have agreed that only one man could be considered to be the next Arl of Denerim: Alistair Theirin."

With Mikhail shoving him in the free middle and Fergus starting to applaud loudly Alistair was only able to give in and smile weakly. Following Mikhail's whispered commands he followed his warden-commander to the queen and with a hazed mind he witnessed the short ceremony of acclamation. Only minutes after he realized where this was going, the new-born Arl of Denerim stood at the side again, glaring at Mikhail while a very broad smiling Leliana watched him with adore in her eyes.

As the assembly calmed down, Anora continued: "One quarter suffered especially under the attack. It was nearly completely destroyed and while this quarter has never been very rich we should use the chance to build it a better way now. To help the new Arl with this difficult task, I want to give him someone at his side. Elder Cyrion, please come to my side."

Under low mumbling of the noblemen, not all of them content with the queen, the elf left his place and followed the order. "Elder Cyrion, I know that the elves of Denerim never had an easy life. With no one able to speak for them despite the amount of elves living in the city, it had fallen to the former Arls to rule them even-handed, something that had not always been successful, often caused thru the cultural differences."

Mikhail liked how Anora circumvented to say how miserably Urien and Vaughan had failed in this. Neither of these men had been interested in the elves' welfare. Alistair would do much better but he needed someone with knowledge about elves. He had spoken long with Anora about this point; it had been one of the only two conditions he made.

"Elder Cyrion, I want to change this. I want to give your people a voice. From now on the elves of Denerim shall have a leader to speak for them and to rule them … there will be a Bann of the Arlada – Bann of the 'small home' as the alienage shall be called from now on."

This time the mumbling went far more irritated but the stern glares of Mikhail and Fergus assured that nobody argued aloud against the queen.

"Elder Cyrion, I have asked you who should be this new Bann."

Cyrion bowed deeply. "The elves of Denerim thank you, Your Highness. This bestowment means so much to us. It will give us hope and joy. To answer your question: …"

"No, no, absolutely no, Cyrion." As the elder turned to her, a very pale Iona waved deterrent.

"You see, Your Highness, we'll need a bit of persuasion. But she is the only possible choice." Turning to the young elven maiden Cyrion continued. "Iona, our people know and trust you. You're kind-hearted and enrooted in our community. In these last days you led our people into the battle with bravery and reason. There could be no better Bann for us. Please accept our choice."

Thoughts were running thru her mind. Who could it be? Cyrion was too old, Shianni too short-tempered, Valendrian lost to Tevinter. Searching for an escape she found none. Looking to Cyrion she saw his pleading. This chance for the elves of Denerim would not reoccur. She couldn't deny this chance to her people, whatever it meant for her.

Her eyes flickered to Mikhail. Iona saw the expression on his face. _He knew it, he started this_. Was this his kind of revenge for her throwing him into Anora's arms? No, she knew better. He did it because he 'saw', because he wanted to help, because he trusted her as she trusted him.

At last she bowed to Anora and accepted the position.

Anora sighed with relief; this being a sure sign that she hadn't been sure that all would go on as planned.

"Before we part I have a last announcement to be made. It is as much a political as a personal choice for me."

Mikhail looked up, trying hard not to show his confusion too clearly. Only the choices for the positions of Arl and Bann had been in his mind. Anora had spoken with him about them and she had his full support. What choice could there be left now?

"Mikhail, despite what happened in these last months you always stood by my side. You helped me and decided to be my Prince-Consort. You asked the Landsmeet to announce me as the Queen of Ferelden irrespective of marriage to grant the land stability. I thank you dearly for all of this. It showed to all that you care much for Ferelden and that you're as honorable as you're brave and inventive.

But I have to admit that I don't like this arrangement, it goes against my heart."

Baffled Mikhail watched Anora, unable to comprehend where this was going. For a sweet moment hope scrabbled in his heart, hope that there would be an escape, but then he knew somehow that Anora meant something else.

"After what you did for Ferelden there could only be one honorable choice: instead of Prince-Consort you should be the King at my side, equal in power and rights."

Much acclaim arose from all sides. While Mikhail pondered about this, Anora looked at someone in the crowd. With a deep breath and a touch of grief she turned to Mikhail who was just starting to answer. She stepped away from the throne at his side and gripped his hands. Small and soft they were, Mikhail pondered for a moment. Beautiful and groomed they were, not like the strong hands of his mother but more like those of his former sister-in-law Oriana.

"Mikhail, will you do me the honor to marry me and rule Ferelden at my side?"

The warrior looked in Anora's eyes. It would be a political marriage they both knew. And her proposal to declare him as king was only another step to strengthen Ferelden and enhance its stability. But had it not always been his duty to serve his home? The picture of a blond woman and a child with great hopeful eyes flickered thru his mind.

_Father would be so proud of you_, Fergus had said. Mikhail saw trust in Anora's eyes. Perhaps he would never love her, but they could be good friends. He could try to be a better husband than Cailan had been. There was so much to do, so many things he could accomplish. He could make Ferelden a better place, a place where women like Oriana wouldn't be killed, where children like Amethyne could be raised with joy.

"Anora …" He accepted her proposal as he was meant to. Somehow he said those words, expressed his gratitude. The hubbub of exaltation and acclaim numbed his mind. Later he would be unable to remember what he said to Anora and the assembly. He would only remember those long blond hairs around a face with troubled eyes fighting to hold back the tears as she hurried away and left the chamber before he finished his speech.

His eyes followed her, his heart wanted to run after her. But he couldn't allow this. Mikhail was unsure how much Anora saw in his face in this moment. But he smiled and she responded in kind. Side by side they looked at the assembly and accepted the congratulations.

Duty and honor, this was the way of the Couslands. He would follow that way. And they all would only see the smile on his face and not the tears in his eyes. For Ferelden.

.

.

_**A/N**_

_Originally I intended to write a trilogy: Part 1 "Origins", Part 2 "Awakening" and Part 3 "DAII". Because of this there isn't a happy ending in this story for Mikhail and Iona. I planned to have that in part 2. In addition, there are many scenes in this first part that were written as hints to later events. Especially Natasha was meant to return in part three, meet the rest of her family (the Hawkes) and have her duel with Sten at last._

_Regretfully it run out of steam and – at least for the near future – I'm not in the mood to continue the story._


End file.
